In The Land Of Ever
by Esbatty
Summary: A story continuing the further exploits of Morrigan and the former King of Ferelden and Warden Commander Vann Cousland after they crossed the Eluvian at the end of the "Witch Hunt".
1. Chapter 1

Hours passed as they walked down the winding passages in silence. Her silhoutte danced in the circle of light at the end of the tunnel as she walked before him. Of all thoughts that crossed his mind only one narrowly escaped his lips.

"Morrigan - will you be my wife?"

Her haloed form stopped its careful saunter and slowly turned.

"What was that?"

"Ah, will you... will you marry me?"

Still cast in silhoutte, the Warden had no idea the expression locked in her features. Was she upset? Puzzled? Happy? Her tone spoke nothing but of the weariness of their journey since entering the Eluvian.

"Your. Wife", she repeated.

What was left of the cheese the Circle Mage, Finn had shared with him before his party entered the Dragonbone Wastes began to sour in his stomach.

"Oh I- just that... maybe since," he stuttered. Having addressed nobles, troops, commoners, and foreign envoys as both King and Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, this woman - this Witch of the Wilds was the only one who could halt his usually silvered tongue.

"Listen here, my Warden, and listen well", she spoke as she closed the distance between them. "Beyond good reason and all logic, throwing out everything I've ever been taught and learned through either Flemeth or experience, I waited for you beside that mirror. The urge to cross without you was very great but the temptation you pose to the- the weaker parts of my soul were far greater than I will ever admit to anyone either than my or your self."

A pregnant pause fell heavy across the tunnel, her words echoing into the shadows and dark.

"Now you ask me to marry you - to cage myself, bind my very existence to you through pomp and ceremony that has no meaning in the world we have just travelled to. Through traditions that also have no meaning to me other than some form of lawful slavery in the land of Ferelden."

Slowly the Warden's eyes adjusted as her features swam into his view, stern eyes slowly softened.

"You. You are my lover. The father of my child. And the only friend I've ever had in my life. You ask me to marry you, wear a label like some pet for the comfort of polite company and thus I say to you 'No'. But I do promise that I- I will remain loyal to you, My Love."

Her eyes searched his for a response. Or simply hurt or tears. Rather he dropped to one knee.

"Ugh, honestly-"

"Just give me a moment I want to give you something."

"I already said, 'No'.T'is no time for bedroll bantering we have somewhere to be."

Like a child he trimumphantly raised the cloth enveloped item over his head in a somewhat silent victory before standing back up and offering it to his partner.

"And what is this?"

"What? Its strange that I give you gifts? You never questioned them before."

"Fine."

Morrigan's hands pulled the item free of the thick, carefully folded material that swaddled it, and she winced as bright light pained her eyes for a moment.

"Your gift has blinded me so."

"Sorry."

She blinked away the spots and in her hands rested a mirror. Its delicate gold inlays depicting the exact scenes and creatures as the mirror Flemeth had shattered in her youth.

"Where?"

"Orzammar. From that lyrium addled merchant that kept asking you if lunch was ready."

With fingers tracing the details crafted into its surface, she looked back to the Warden and simply stared at him her lips just barely parted.

"I purchased it after we returned from The Deep Roads while you and Ohgren were arguing."

"The drunken oaf."

"It was I who made a point to cast his gaze on your - assets."

"You fiend."

"It's the Taint it compels me to most devious ventures."

"I- thank you. But that was years ago and you gave each of us many treasures in gratitude why hold back- this one in particular?"

"Its a tradition. The groom often gives the bride a token of affection on the morning after the wedding night. Yet the gift cannot just be any bauble or silks but something significant. Something from the heart, and since yours has been broken all these years I thought this could begin its mend."

Morrigan hugged the mirror to her chest and shut her eyes.

"I already said that I am not your bride."

"As I understood from your very subtle warning, but since we've reached the precipice of our relationship and understand where we- uhh- stand, I thought this was the appropriate moment to give you this."

The Warden approached even closer to his love and witnessed her tears. The slow trickle running down her face and neck and wetting the mirror's finish. He brought his face close for a kiss but...

"You do know this is the most you've ever spoken to any one person, yes?", Morrigan breaking the moment, her eyes still firmly shut.

"Yes," the Warden whispered, "but I do believe you deserve the very most from me".

She blinked away the tears, "Fool."

And they kissed.


	2. Chapter 2

Their kiss quickly turned to a more full-bodied embrace, the once cool tunnel air quickly warmed around their bodies. Her fingers dug into his hair and audibly scratched across his back armor.

"Mmm, no - not now," Morrigan reluctantly pushed him away. "Time works differently here. The more we waste, the longer we are apart from him, any number of unforeseen dangers-".

"I understand, its just been a very, very long time."

Morrigan's eyes narrowed, "right."

Cousland adjusted his black plate armor long ago acquired during a foray into the Fade-ridden Blackmarsh.

"What?"

"No, we're moving onward."

"Honestly, what is it Morrigan? What is bothering you?"

She trudged ahead in silence. The Warden sighed before falling into step beside his raven-haired temptress. Daring not even a side glance,

Morrigan's lips drew together thinly. It was true, it'd been years and now this long walk of theirs through ominous rocky passages was actually so much than he had hoped for.

"Morrigan, I came here with you, to be with you, to be a family. Part of being a family is helping each other. Help me understand. What did I do to upset you?", he deigned to ask.

Balling her hands into tight, white fists she loosed a long hiss of breath before she addressed him.

"You already have a wife. A queen. You have already expressed how deeply marriage means to you and yet here you are with your lover ignoring your previous entanglements. What am I to think of that? Did you provide her with a meaningful gift after- after- ugh."

The Warden was struck dumb for a moment, the battle between his feelings and any remant of logic he still possessed were caught in a deadlock.

With mouth agape he simply stuttered out a short series of half coughs.

"Exactly, you have nothing to say. There doesn't need to be as you're already here with me - and with no way to back out. This is important and my curiosity has already taken me far too far into your doings in my absence so we need not speak of this any further, but do not think I will easily forget-"

Cousland tossed his helmet aside, the clatter echoed through the tunnels.

"You left me and asked- no no - made me promise not to follow. I laid with you that night, if only to have you one more day at my side. You meant that much to me and still do. Yes, you left and made it very clear this that is happening now wouldn't be happening, as it is happening now. I am the second born son of the late Teyrn of Highever, as a noble and a Cousland we are raised to do our duty for our land as well as for the people under the Crown. So I moved on, the marriage with Anora was to try to help Alistair be a free man to pursue his life as a Warden and provide the people with a leader they... deserve."

"Well that certainly worked out well enough."

"Yes, regrettably he left. We certainly needed more Wardens and Loghain-"

"How conveniently he would become your Father-in-Law."

"You are an impossible woman."

"You truly do inspire others."

Another moment of quiet passed between them.

"Shall we move on now, to meet your-"

"I took another Grey Warden to bed in my time as Commander of the Grey", he spouted far too fast in a single breath.

"Son?", her question's ending hung in the air.

"We both had lost everything we cared about and Anora was never keen on producing an heir - or any semblance of a Family. Even Loghain was warmer towards me. It was only a one time happening. Other than Oghren, she was the only one of the recruits that knew about you. We clashed more than once over my time at Vigil's Keep, but I'll spare you the frivolities."

"No go on, I want to know about ALL of your conquests. Just thrilling."

Ignoring her sarcasm he continued, "It was a single night, and morning, but it was only that because no one can replace you. Even when I believe I'm never to see you again. You are unlike any person I've ever met or will ever meet. Dammit all, I've met Desire Demons that were certainly far less subtle than you and they never - moved me."

"Ah yes, the man who straddled two realms."

"Ugh, I'm dying here."

"T'would probably be some sort of blessing to you at this time would it not?"

"Lets - just keep onward. I really do want to see my Son."

"It truly is a wonder how we didn't just up and perish under your leadership."

"I - I had you", he offered. His revelations having moved her in no way he wished her feelings to go.

She stooped low and deftly snatched up his helmet. Cousland reached for it but she turned away and simply rested it between her forearm and hip. Now he wouldn't be able to hide his quiet sulking for the remainder of their walk.

The light at the end of the passages began to dim over time, in his travels The Warden was acutely aware of the shifts in the time due to the changing of the season in the various parts of Ferelden.

The change in the daylight hours were far different in this... world? In his pursuit of Morrigan and reconnecting after the scant years between the death of the Archdemon and now it never fully registered that he was no longer in his Kingdom, nor any of the far reaches of the Thedas. 'Beyond The Fade' she said. Just how far beyond or rather what is beyond.

Men under his command during the Siege of Vigil's Keep, who had suffered near fatal wounds had spoken to him of seeing lights at... no. It couldn't be.

"Morrigan... are we - dead?"

She found earnestness in his voice so she stayed her freshly sharpened tongue.

"Perhaps. Have you been reliving any more slices of amorous life?"

"What? No."

"Well neither have I, so no. We are not, but we are quickly approaching the place where Spirits do roam."

"And we're not dead?"

"No, not by any definition accepted by The Chantry if that is what you're asking."

"If we were dead wouldn't we join The Maker?"

"I have no inkling as to the grand rewards granted to The Maker's believers, but we humble few that share not your views, go here. And by this logic, you joining me through the Eluvian have thus deigned to avoid the entire process of wound or illness borne transport to this realm of the Spirit, are blaspheming and thus able to be here and not ... elsewhere, as you were led to believe."

"Oh", he replied, coming near shoulder to shoulder with his beloved, careful not to let the pauldrons of his armor disturb the careful arrangement of feathers that clad her lovely pale flesh of her shoulder.

"Oh?", she asked raising a curious brow.

"What? I can't 'understand' all the complexities of some Elven-Tevinter ritual dreamed up ages ago?"

"I find you normally understand two methods of solving issues either through talking or stabbing your problems away."

"Drinking works too. Its the stabbing man's sorcery."

"Fool", she spoke, taking his hand into hers, their fingers locking about one another.

"Witch."

As they approached the mouth of their final passage, he gazed out onto the strange land that lay before them, as the stars settled into the night sky.


	3. Chapter 3

Even in the starlight the landscape could easily be described as flat, red land. From the gaping maw of the rocky tunnel Morrigan and Cousland made out just long stretches of flat near barren plains. No moon hung in the strange skies above the pair, but the stars that dotted it shone brightly and bathed everything in a demure silver tone.

Morrigan handed her beloved his black, winged helmet before slowly lowering herself from the outcropping of the tunnel and carefully landing on the earth below. He watched her from his elevated perch at the tunnel's mouth as she seemed to move her head in a systematic manner snuffing like an animal at the dry air.

"Like a Mabari", he chuckled quietly to himself.

"What was that?"

"Nothing... my sweet."

"Hush your prattle, I need to find him. They shouldn't be that far off."

"They?"

Her head snapped around and cast a stiletto-sharp glance that quickly shut up the once Hero of Ferelden. Clad from neck to toe in the armor worn by the first slayer of the Archdemon Dumat, he found himself quickly at a disadvantage trying to scale or jump down the short distance from the passage's mouth to the ground below. With a long sigh he began the careful, near torturously long and hopefully quiet enough process of stripping it off and stowing it piece by piece in his pack. By the time he finished and made it down, he found Morrigan biting her own thumb in a rather careful but nervous manner.

"Are you alright?", he whispered.

She dismissed him with a wet murmur and a wave of her free hand while still gnawing on herself. The Warden bristled at the sight, she had insisted the child - their child was somewhere safe, and from the state he found her in and the look of this barren scape doubts swam into his mind. There was so much he found himself unsure about, in spite of the claims of the bonds of love and devotion, he had no clue as to what he has stepped into. A land populated by the spirits of the dead, and yet it was unlike The Fade. Here this place was empty and static. Feeling no familiar whistle and caress of the wind, no insects scuttling or chirping about in the twilight. It was so foreign, alien, it was nothing like his unwanted escapades in The Fade, nor anything close to the Chantry's expounding on the infernal endgame that was to befall nonbelievers.

He should have paid attention to Zevran's tips and impromptu lesson on tracking live quarry. In spite of his city side upbringing, the once son of a Dalish mother was well versed in tracking man and beast in the wild. Instead the Warden found himself lightly gripping the ever-shifting ring Morrigan gave him, feeling it change shape over and over again. The ring that connected them and allowed her to feel his presence wherever he may be, was all that he had of Morrigan, and seemingly in trade he had given her a son. Did he even have a name? He never bothered to ask. Did he look at all like Father or more like his Mother? Cousland winced at the idea the child resembled anything of Flemeth.

The familiar sound of Morrigan spitting broke his train of thought.

"They're not to far from here, but we must hurry, for they must be out of the stores I left for him by now", she spoke as she wiped at a smear of blood at the corner of her mouth.

"Are you sure you are feeling right? You seemed awfully worried."

"No, 'tis simply blood magic and I did not have my dagger on my person. I- will be fine once we reach him."

Cousland nodded, then retrieved his pack and followed her off into the night.

Without the armor he felt a bit more dexterous and was able to keep to the Witch's pace as they strode across the parched face of the land. The red grit clung to the leather footing he quickly tied to his feet when he removed the plated boots. To the Warden it was as if they chased a dream that had been haunting him for the past 2 years and now he'd finally awake - to the truth.

"Does he have a name?"

Sweat had clung to her exposed flesh and Morrigan wiped it free from her forehead before answering.

"Who? I mean, No, I never bothered. Why?"

"But why didn't you?"

"We'd move much more speedily if we dispensed with the idle chatter."

"I want to know why our Son has no name. Its always 'Son' or 'Child' with you but never 'Tomas' or 'Gilly' or anything."

"Gilly?"

"I knew a Gilly once, he later inherited and became Lord Guilfore. Terrible at cards, always cheated."

"T'was how... Mother raised me. I chose my own name. From a book, not some childhood hooligan with gambling troubles."

"I wasn't so fortunate, or maybe I was. Who knows I might have named myself after a war hound or some form of weapon like Dirk or Lance. Yes - Lance."

"Absolutely not. 'Tis the soul of an Old God bound in mortal form - to flesh. He will chose his own name when the time comes."

"Okay, okay, I understand."

"Good because I will not have you turn him into some mewling of a whelp out of some fool sense of sentiment."

"The Couslands do not raise weaklings and cowards. I and my brother survived The Blight on our own terms."

"Did not my Mother save you from a fleshy pincushion's fate?"

"I am a charmer, if nothing else. Hopefully beyond all the ancient arcane power and your mental fortitude, I can imbue at least that much into him."

She cast a sideways glance of disbelief at her travelling companion before shaking here head and then increasing her speed. His laughter closely followed.


	4. Chapter 4

A flicker in the distance drew his lingering eyes away from Morrigan's backside. Every stride brought the faint light into view, something obscured it but it wasn't long before the tiny flames were visible. A figure sat hunched in front of it, rocking back and forth to a noiseless rhythm.

Morrigan's pace dropped considerably, despite all their time travelling together on foot across the face of Ferelden he had never seen her carry herself so fleetly even when their party was chased by hordes of battle-eager Darkspawn minions. As he caught up to her side he saw relief wash over her countenance. Her calm demeanor returned as they strolled up to the meager encampment.

"Omen", she spoke aloud, addressing the hooded figure.

A low shushing noise was issued in reply.

"He's sleeping," Morrigan offered to The Warden.

"I find it is what children do best."

With a gentle gesture of her hand she bade her lover quiet as she drew up alongside the hunched form. The Warden simply watched on as the two exchanged careful whispers, huddled over a large bundle of cloth and rags. Morrigan lifted the bundle from the hooded figure and cradled it in her arms, and within a small opening in the cloth he watched as she lowered her head ever so close.

Moments later she brought the swaddling to her lover and presented it to him, still cradled in her arms. He stared intently at her face, trying to read her, as if disbelieving her intentions or rather the moment that was occurring. With a slight nod from the Mother he cast his eyes down and looked upon his Son.

His mind raced, the idea of a baby - an infant really was the only image he carried. But the child he saw before him was larger, more so a toddler than an infant. Had so much time truly passed since that night in Redcliffe?

"He's - he's big", was all he could muster.

"Strong, too. He walks, you know. Ambling about like a drunken dwarf."

"I can't believe it. I see him. And I still, I've missed so much."

"Steady yourself, my Warden. These are the choices we've made, but as I've assured you he is an innocent. A child, showing no signs of his - other heritage."

"Can I?", he gestured. Morrigan hesitated for a scant moment before filling the Father's arms with his Son.

"Heavy little,,, pup", he said with pride.

"I'll leave you two be for the moment. He must feed soon."

Cousland nodded and Morrigan turned back to the little camp area.

The whole experience was still so unreal. Family. He had his Family back. Even as King all he had that connected him to his old life was Fergus, but even his elder brother was coping with his own loss - not only that of their parents but his own wife and son. Highever's new Teryn had thrown himself full force into expanding its military force and into the political scene. Even as King, the younger Cousland had even clashed with Fergus in matters of trade and the concerns of the Banns at Highever's growing martial power.

The thought that in his own grief at Morrigan's departure from his life could have had a detrimental impact his own decisions in his time as both and Warden-Commander chilled him. Maybe Anora would have been more willing had he not- the child's quick suckling of air and soft wet cough broke his train of thought.

Leaning in closely he studied the boy's features. His nose so small, probably from his Mother, his lips too framed in a careful pout. He ran his fingers across his forehead brushing at the soft hairs that stuck out from beneath the wrappings. For a child so large the covers must be to keep him warm but without any wind or breeze or even a noticeable drop in temperature in the night he wondered at why he was bundled like a bedroll.

Destiny.

Morrigan had spoken of his destiny in the change that was coming to the whole of not only Thedas but the world itself. Mother and Father had slain the Archdemon and quelled The Blight. A Blight spawned by the now slain Architect. His child was now a part of a larger world where nothing would ever be the same.

The babe exhaled into his Father's face and the scent was new yet so familiar and comforting, tears came to The Warden's eyes. He would have to prepare the boy, protect him until he was old enough to stand on his own against what was coming. Gritting his teeth, Cousland held back the sobs that threatened to break the serenity of the moment and his son's slumber.

He drew the bundle close to his chest and gently placed his face on his child's head and drew in a deep breath. The babe smelled of his Morrigan. It was her scent, her smell like in the brief moments when they'd lay there on the bedroll in each other's arms before they'd give in to passion. The smell of - Home.

"May I-", Morrigan spoke upon appearing at his side, "I must wake him to feed."

Blinking away the tears he released his embrace and carefully returned the bundle to Morrigan. He noticed she was no longer wearing her usual attire, instead she wore a simple cloth wrap that simply covered her breasts and less ornate version of her usual skirt leathers. The hooded figure stood up from the large rock that sat by the fire, where Morrigan replaced her as the newly woken child suckled.

Tentatively the person approached the Warden, already he felt awkward both his blades and armor were stowed in the pack he had placed at his feet.

"Greetings, I am-"

"I know who you are", the figure rasped. "Morrigan spoke of you, briefly, when she originally left the boy with me. You -are- the Father?", it asked.

"Indeed. And you?"

"Omen."

"Well met... Omen."

"I know you from the Tower. Yes, it is you."

Cousland was at a loss for words. Tower?

"Yes, you allowed me and my husband to flee from the Circle of Magi."

"Forgive me if I- don't quite remember the event you speak of."

"I promised not to plague you or your band if you allowed me to leave with my husband. You allowed me to stay with him in the Mortal Realm."  
The Warden suddenly felt stark naked knowing his weapons were not sitting in their scabbards across his back.

"The Demon."

"Yes, now you remember", she spoke while pulling back the hood from her head revealing her horned features. "And now I found a way to repay you- in kind."


	5. Chapter 5

Cousland found himself face to face with a Desire Demon with his new found family only a few paces away. The fact she had been in possession of his son the entirety of the time Morrigan and he conversed in the Dragonbone Wastes and all the time they spent travelling to this land of the dead gnawed at his stomach.

"Your hair is - not aflame, in fact you've no hair at all."

"Aye", she replied as she replaced the hood back over her features.

"And your horns are broken. What happened to you?"

With that she turned away and simply sat in the midst of the dust on the ground, once again hunched, "We died, while wandering far too close to a hidden Dalish camp that had set place near our home. I never bothered to learn how to maintain his armor and weapon so the arrows easily broke through the weakened metal."

"What do you mean, we? You possessed that Templar."

"Simon. He was a good man - good to me and the children."

"That was all a fantasy, you played tricks with his mind, used his own dreams against him."

"They were real. The children came from me. I conjured them with my own power and poured them into his mind. They were real to us and that's all that mattered."

The Warden hovered over the robed being, his face screwed up into a disgusted grimace as he heaped his judgements while she sat there impassive.

"Real? A creature that feeds on the emotions and lives of others. You're a parasite. A pestilence."

"Where was this bitterness those years ago? Why did you not strike us down. End his misery?" she replied coolly.

"I was... different then. Here I find you - this thing- in control of my child."

"No harm has befallen him, least not in my care. I owed you - both. I need no thanks or compensation, and seek none. You gave me a chance to experience your world through my Simon's eyes. Every moment free of The Fade and petty squabbling over the souls of Men was a blessing and I thank you."

He consider her words for a few moments before stealing a quick glance at Morrigan as she nursed their young son.

"So... Omen, how did you arrive here and not the Templar."

"Simon. The years with him were particularly difficult once I found I couldn't entirely sustain myself on his will alone. It came to a point where I'd press him into situations where he thought I and the children were in danger and he would be led to attack travellers, vagabonds, and any others that happened through the Brecillian Forests."

"That is horrid."

"No, I could sense what lurked in the hearts of the coming men. We - I spared the innocent and set my Simon upon the rest. It worked well enough as he would capture and bind them allowing me to have my way with their lives. But then the Dalish came and they left him to die of his wounds. My beautiful Simon, lying in a pool of his blood. I used the last vestiges of my own energy to give him the rest of our lives together. He saw his children grown, married, grandchildren and then we passed together in slumber."

Soft sobs issued from the hood as her head sank against her chest. Cousland took a few steps back, his face slackened, the bile within him receding leaving him feeling empty. This was far divorced from anything he had experienced beyond his time at Vigil's Keep in the company of the spirit of Justice that possessed the Orlesian Grey Warden Kristoff.

"He - he called me his 'Good Omen' the first time I revealed myself to him", she cleared her throat and sighed. "My intent was to seduce him and simply be free of The Fade much like all the rest that slipped through, but I chose poorly, he was not a man of the flesh. He never debased himself with petty jealousies and bodily wants. But I spent so much time inside of him, absorbing his essence that when he passed I willingly let my grasp of him go and I found myself wandering through a dark passage. I followed the light out and found myself naked and alone. I walked forth, drawn by some unseen force that pulled me for hours until I spied a caravan in the distance."

"A caravan? There were travellers - others like you?" Cousland's curiosity was suddenly peaked, be it that so far Omen and his son were the only other beings he had met in this darkened, scarlet land.

"No, not like me. They were human or rather were human. Some of them spotted me in the distance and they made haste to intercept my approach. They called me all manners of names and curses, Qunari was the one most muttered. I was - savaged in turn, and left for dead. The one they called Howe had my horns broken, taken as trophies."

"Wait... Howe? Nathaniel Howe?"

"The name was simply Howe. I know not any other names."

"Its Rendon Howe," Morrigan spoke as she approached with his pup taking his sup. "Unless you led his eldest to his death during your command."  
A pit formed once again his stomach, a wave of revulsion and anger welled up. Even in death the snake was making other's eternal rest a waking hell.

"It was your companion here who found me nursing my wounds. It appears here death is no longer a reprieve from one's suffering., the damage that was done unto myself was severe enough that had I been in the land of the living or even The Fade I'd have ceased to be."

"So you're saying I can't kill Howe - again."

"No! Absolutely not. I will not have you dragging me - and our child into some revenge crusade", Morrigan protested fiercely.

"He is a monster. He- he- gah! He attacked Omen, unprovoked."

"Tsk, a moment ago you were ready to run her through for playing nursemaid to our Son."

"I don't care - he's - he's got to die. We can't be safe with that lunatic marauding about."

"We'll simply avoid others. I can't - lose you my Warden." a flash of genuine concern crossed Morrigan's face.

Cousland was taken aback at this, "Lose me? She said in this place we are free from death."

"Fool! They cannot die. They- are- dead. We yet live. Our spirits are not separate from our corporeal form. That is why were are not drawn to follow the rest of the Pilgrim's March. We are foreign invaders from the Mortal Realm. To them we are unnatural - anathema. Here we are the abominations."


	6. Chapter 6

It was all said and done.

There'd be no confronting Rendon Howe, the murderous bastard who upended The Warden's life, instead he found himself tasked with setting up a proper camp while Omen watched the child, and Morrigan gathered whatever scraps of kindling and fuel for the fire.

Having only packed for themselves he found that the two tents went up quickly, only Morrigan brought a second bedroll and offered it to Omen, whom declined. Here she knew not the urge to sleep only the one beckoning for her to join the others that they had yet to encounter themselves.

As for Cousland sleep did not come, rather he spent his time adding small handfuls of sparse yellow grass clumps and what passed for twigs to the fire. He could see their once demonic companion standing off at a distance from their encampment simply staring into the dark.

"You must gather your strength. You will find rest will once again become a luxury, albeit necessary in the time to come. This world can dull the senses, stealing your will to go on, and we must avoid that at all cost. Do not deny yourself your most basic of needs", The Warden turned and found the Witch behind him kneeling, her hands neatly folded in her lap.

"I feel - impotent, my hands tied. I'm just so used to striking out and taking control of situations.", he lamented.

She tilted her head to the side and concentrated on his face. Worry had begun to etch and wizen his once youthful features as did the scars from the battles they once fought togther and the ones that came after. Fingers that had remained delicate despite their mistress'  
heavy use traced the paths formed by wrinkles and hastily healed wounds on the warrior's face.

He was no longer the lost boy in the wilds she met long ago. Neither was he the passionate youth she so easily baited to her tent.  
Countless nights lost in the throes of each others desire that slowly devolved into an attachment she would come to regret. His gaze weighed heavy on her, there was a wanting in them for her own eyes to meet his but she kept them elsewhere on his face.

"I cannot do this."

"Do what? You're driving me mad with this- these mysteries. I am full of questions and yet I do not voice the bulk of them out of fear of the answers."

"This. I do not have the time to love you as you so freely wish. My responsiblities to the raising and training of my Son must come first."

She pulled her hand back but he deftly caught her wrist in a firm grip.

"As you've said we are here because you need time to do so. And I won't deny you that, but you can't deny yourself - ourselves. We need this."

"Unhand me", her eyes narrowed.

His grip slackened with a cry of sudden pain, he crumpled forward and the shaft of a crude arrow stuck out from his back. 


	7. Chapter 7

Morrigan watched the champion of her heart crumple before her very eyes. For a moment everything slowed and blurred, arrows slowly materialized around her as they pierced the earth. Her limbs fought through the mired thickness of the air as she leapt forward to her tent. Clawing open the material she simply scooped up the little body moments before three bolts tore their way through the weathered fabric and one of which buried itself where the child lay before.

The assailants did all this in utter silence, their ranged assault brought no beat of drum or cry of war, they fought from the darkness. Fear and surprise their allies of choice. In Ferelden they'd be branded cowards or assassins, but here in the land beyond the fade, who knew what they'd be called. Taking neither her staff or clothes, she darted out of the tent, wrapping as much of herself around the bundle clutched to her chest and fled in the direction opposite of the flechettes' flight.

Morrigan silently cursed herself for leaving Cousland behind, raw maternal instinct overrode any concern other than for her child. So important and defenseless as he is, she could not bear to chance the child's safety in light of this attack. The Warden could care for himself. This she was sure of.

"Run", was all he could manage as every breath gave way to a sharp pain within his chest. The whisper of arrows and plumes of red dust where she once sat was all he could see once he raised his head wearily from the ground.

Suddenly a blow came across his face, he sucked in a lungful of dust that stole the moisture from his mouth. Hefted up from the ground Cousland was restrained by a pair of unseen attackers while another blow struck him square in the solar plexus. Choking on dust and the wind forced from his body, pain racked his form. The beating that followed was little better than the ones Fergus imparted on him in their rowdy youth but never had he been skewered by an arrow at the time nor was in fear for the lives of his family.

"I've always wanted to do that, Cousland. You pompous little twit with your twirling blades and sharp tongue, too good to use a damn shield in the tournaments like every other noble and knight. Look at you, so helpless and bewildered."

The tears from the coughing and gasps obscured his vision but the rasp of a voice that addressed him was ever so familiar. A rough hand nearly ripped the hair from his scalp as his head was jerked up.

"Look at me you - you, I don't know. I was never one for proper insults", the featureless blur of a face suddenly came far too close for comfort as a headbutt connected with the Warden's nose.

"BRING ME THE CHASIND WHORE!", it bellowed as stars and further tears burned the Warden's eyes.

"At least I know our tastes run similar. The lesser born girls squeal far less but are always so much more - succulent with enough prodding."

A wave of revulsion ran through Cousland. "Va-ughn?" he choked out.

"Joy of joys, he remembers", the once son of the Arl of Denerim spoke while stalking around his fellow noble. "Alright men, let him go. He is nobility after all. We should treat him as such."

Like a sack of mouldy potatoes the Warden hit the ground, another mouthful of red dust filled his mouth.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Vann, was it? I don't really hate you but something deep down inside me just gets rubbed the wrong way. Which says much because I do love being rubbed all kinds of ways. Nevertheless you and your fleet-footed friend are going to die, its just I'm going to have a bit of fun first, and fun is something we don't get alot of in these parts."


	8. Chapter 8

Vaughn chattered on, most of it lost on The Warden as his grasp on his senses waxed and waned. He felt terrible, all that time of having healers at his beckon call as both King and Warden Commander left him a bit of stranger to prolonged physical suffering. A bright flare in the distance snapped him out of his internal lament.

"The hell was that?", Vaughn questioned to no one in particular.

A terrible wail filled the air and it drew closer with every passing second. Sensing no one in the immediate vicinity, Cousland picked himself up from the ground. Pain lanced across his muscles as he pushed his broken body into a stance. 'All of Ferelden for a healer', he thought. His hands ached as they worked a tatter of his tunic across his swollen eyes freeing them of the sweat and blood.

A careful blink later and he saw two men aflame screaming to whatever passes for a god in this forsaken land as they streaked past Vaughn. The long dead rumored rapist was also a sight to behold. He turned and faced The Warden, his mottled skin desiccated like that of a slow rotting corpse. Yet his body moved with a life that should not be.

Fear flashed across the dead man's dry and jerkied-face, as a painful scowl spread upon Cousland's.

"'Noughs 'nough, Vaughn", The Warden managed through fat, bloodied lips.

The ghoulish figure tensed into an attack posture like an animal. A feral grin locked on its face and it leapt forward only to be knocked to the side before its attack could connect. The Warden watched the two struggle on the ground before him. A single bolt of lightning illuminated the scene long enough for him to witness Omen's robed form bring down Morrigan's old silverite dagger into Vaughn's skull.

All hope gained by the violent victory over his attacker by the former Desire Demon was lost as the body went limp for all of a second before the malevolence of its life returned renewing its violence as it lay pinned.

"Stay down you - Bastard!" Omen cried as she withdrew the dagger from his head and began hacking at his neck which spurned even more panicked flailing from the body. The sight sickened the Warden, a nauseous gasp painfully reminded him of the projectile that remained lodged in his back.  
His shoulder muscles protested as he reached back around to pull it free, but a voice stayed his hand.

"No, you fool. T'will only make it worse."

Morrigan's figure swam into view, their child in one arm, and a pair of crossbows in the other. Her voice sounded huskier, tired, her words came out with almost ragged breaths. But he did not care for the moment as the pair appeared safe in spite of the ambush and thus sank to his knees and hunched forward.

"Healing... please," he begged.

"I'm sorry, my Love but you will have to suffice with the mending of paupers. Time and rest."

"Then by the Maker... just take it... out of me."

Discarding the weaponry, Morrigan knelt before the Warden, child still in her possession and gently examined the still-pierced wound.

"'Tis... beyond even my knowledge. I fear its removal may cause the damage to worsen."

Cousland groaned at the news, and then once again by the pain induced by his groan.

"STOP - BLOODY - STRUGGLING!" Omen screamed in anger and frustration, as Morrigan and the Warden looked to the side and found Omen attempting to saw through the shoulder joint of Vaughn's arm. His head only partially removed from the neck lolled and flopped as the body bucked and spasmed, gurgles escaped from its exposed throat.

"Ugh, disturbing", Morrigan whispered to herself. "Just stay where you are, I shall help Omen deal with - that."

Wearily she rose to her feet and approached the grisly scene, "Leave it be, Omen. Take the child and stay by his Father."

She turned her blood spattered head and faced Morrigan, a look of hurt and rage remained fixed upon it. It softened as she looked up on her companion, who's already pale skin was nearer the silver pallor cast by the starlit sky. With a quick shove she pushed herself off the bloody mess that now clawed and grasped at the empty air above it. Taking the child from Morrigan, its makeshift blanketing was stained with blood.

Omen stood back, behind the fallen Grey Warden, and watched as Morrigan raised a bloody arm high and sprinkled her own blood on Vaughn's body. It instantly burst into flames and with that they watched as the raven-haired Witch collapsed.


	9. Chapter 9

Here there was no dreaming to be had, no fitful fantasies or relived memories, and the only nightmares were the waking ones found in the actions of others. Morrigan awoke from the emptiness behind her eyes, finding herself staring at the hastily repaired ceiling of her tent. Patches of bloodstained cloth were fastened by rough stitching to the tent's interior, blocking the holes caused by bolts loosed from ancient crossbows. The thought of that singular bolt that had stabbed into the ground where her-

"The child?" she breathlessly whispered, yet no answer came.

Any effort to lift a limb gave little more than the shifting of her prone body. How she hated the feeling of being helpless, but her current state was the consequence of taxing her very essence, her very life. As the dead do not dream, nor do they work magic, the connection to the Fade is all but absent, thus lyrium and mana have little purpose. It is blood - life itself that powers every spell and incantation. Here her Child would be safest from Flemeth or others who may seek the power of the Old God for their own purposes, and here is where He will learn the most ancient and basic forms of magic, powered by his ancient essence born into him thanks in part to the desperation of his parents.

"Child?" she called again half expecting a familiar hungry wail.

Instead beside her roused the former King. The very idea of him ruling Ferelden both pleased and disturbed her. He had assumed a leader's role so readily and easily in the quest to end The Blight. Yet again when he doubted both the intentions of the nation's Queen, binding himself in marriage even, despite the relationship he shared with his chasind, arcane lover. Having taken many a man to bed during her womanhood at Flemeth's urging, even the the very thought of him wrapped in Orlesian silks rolling about in the royal bedchamber curdled her blood.

She banished any further thoughts once she felt one of his hands weakly pawed at her stomach.

"Where is he? Our son..."

"Do not know."

"Vaughn?"

"Save your- breath."

The Warden exhaled long and slow, "Ow."

Neither could move more than that, but it felt reassuring to have his calloused hand upon her skin. A pair of misplaced pillows or thick sacks simply placed on their faces with a bit of pressure could turn their child into an orphan. What a pitiful pair they made.

What did she know of being of a Mother, really? Flemeth was no tender nurturer, any gift or nicety was merely a calculated distraction offered to keep her on the correct path. At times she felt little better than a servant but that want of power - the need for control over her own life drove her on.

Is that what she wants to share with her son? Her teachings in the ways of men were simply in pleasure, reproduction, and manipulation. With no intention to bed the child once grown what could she impart to him other than spells and the long storied history from which he comes forth? And his Father? Throwing away position, power, and rite for - love, of all things. What could an Old God possibly want of love? Truly what power is to be found in it? Again she banished her thoughts, her bodily weakness once again clouding her thoughts.

"Morrigan, I'm-"

"Shhh."

"I'm- sorry."

She sighed.

"Sorry... couldn't protect you."

"No", she attempted to be stern with her weak reply.

"Failed you... both. Failed the ones- I love... again."

"Shhh, something comes", she strained her senses as the rustle of the tent flap parted letting in the light of day. Both groaned as its brightness hurt their eyes.

Omen hovered over the pair, "Both awake? Good."

Her hooded robe was absent from her person leaving her as she had been originally found. Morrigan noticed that the demon's once pink hued form was more a deeper purple with touches of reddish ochre that highlighted the varied scars that marred her body. Howe had been the one that decided to take her horns as a prize but when the group had parted after beating her mercilessly, Vaughn had remained behind and did as he wished. Thus the savagery in her defense of the camp came as no surprise.

Omen placed a flask at the prone Witch's lips, the moisture on the opening cracked her parched lips. Small draughts of warm, bitter fluid slid down her tongue and throat. The same was done for the Warden, save for the occasional gasp and choke as he still labored to breathe let alone swallow.  
"I have good news. You do not appear to be in any kind of danger of passing as you've both have seemed to have slept past your respective fever and body chill. Aye but you're both far too weakened to be of any use to myself or the Child so I will have to venture out to find anything we can feed or give to you to drink. So I must take the little one with me."

Morrigan's eyes widened and shook her head with all the disapproval she could muster.

"I know, you have worries but rest assured I've no intentions to harm or put him in harms way. This I swear", the former demoness offered with a salute that was markedly Templar in origin. "Besides don't worry any longer about the- unpleasantness from last night. They've all been taken care of."

The Warden gave a questioning grunt, reminiscent of his Mabari's own attempts at speech.

"They can't die but it will take them much time not only to heal but to free themselves - if they are so determined."

The reddish grime and broken blisters on her hands told the rest of the tale as Morrigan watched her gently replaced the cap upon the flask. With that she idled in the tent a moment checking the repairs she had obviously performed on the tent before putting her robe back on. As Omen exited the tent Morrigan noticed ragged tears at the bottom of her meager covering.


	10. Chapter 10

As minutes blended into hours Morrigan and Cousland collectively stewed in their miseries. Whatever Omen had given them to drink was slowly restoring their wits and bodily control. With time working differently in this world, the day stretched on far longer than either of them were comfortable with.

Still in no shape to trundle around camp they resigned themselves to staying within the tent, shaded from the heat of the long day, but now they were rolled on their sides staring at each other.

"You do understand this is all your particular fault, yes?" Morrigan spoke first, breaking the silence.

"Indeed. Even apologized earlier if you did not-" he stopped for a moment his wound still gave him short bouts of pain that subsided as quickly as they came, "ahh, notice."

"If you had simply listened to me, and kept your damnable promise to me, I would not have waited nor would Omen have started a small fire to keep the babe warm."

"Again. Sorry. What else do you want of me? Blood? I can -argh- certainly spare a bit more."

"I am certainly considering it."

"Good. Wonderful. Per-rrrrgh-fect."

"A bit melodramatic, hmm?"

"Fine, it doesn't hurt that much when I speak. But your venomous words still have a sting to them", a Cheshire grin spread across his face.

"Oh ho! Truly, your Majesty, I believe you have achieved a modicum of sensitivity not seen since Alistair stormed out of the Landsmeet chambers."

Morrigan watched as his smirk melted away. She had gone too far in her prodding, their playful banter died away while another unwelcome space of silence and thought settled in.

She took the time to stretch a bit. Some of her energies still had yet to return but nevertheless Morrigan sat up and focused on the audible cracking of her finger joints.

"Must you?" the Warden piped up, having long ago flipped back onto his stomach.

"Shush".

"No."

"Fool."

"Chasin- OWWW!"

Morrigan released the bit of arrow shaft that still remained in his back after having given it a bit of a light jostling.

"Do not address me in such a way again", she spoke returning back to rubbing down her wrists and arms. This time he kept quiet, as her toe and knee joints popped, she revelled in the sensation of relief as the circulation returned to her lower limbs. Mother had taught her the various points on the body one need to massage to avoid any discomfort as unused limbs returned to service.

In her attempt stand, she was caught by her wrist and yanked back down, landing on top of the Warden. She struggled in his grasp for a moment before he pulled her against himself, his arms and legs wrapping about her.

"Let me free", she commanded.

"Apologize."

"Absolutely not."

"I mean it, woman", his whispered words lightly blew her disheveled hair, tickling her ear.

"The next Blight will come before I utter such a thing. So in a word: Never", Morrigan's tone softened.

"I can wait", he buried his face in back of her neck.

"They could be back at any time."

"Mmm, they'd see nothing he'd understand nor anything she hasn't conjured up herself." 


	11. Chapter 11

Even in her eldritch enforced captivity in the Arl of Denerim's estate she had busied herself with reviewing any proposals that expressly required the signatory to be the ruling monarch as she had never been one to sit idly by. But here she sat staring out in the wide yonder of the graying blue skies of Denerim, like some starstruck chambermaid.

Anora having been long ago promised to Cailan, grew up with all the assurance of her spot on the throne, long endeavoured to be the Queen that supported the kind of King that Cailan fancied himself to become. Dutiful, calculating, and resolute in all that they do, but even with his passing she was quickly presented with another Crown's Prop. A Cousland, of all people, and a Grey Warden of all things.

She initially took solace in the fact that should her Father fail to slay the Archdemon that with the Warden's killing blow he too would pass and she alone would retain the throne. It was a pleasant shock they both survived, the Warden not only keeping her Father alive but also delivered the fatal thrust ending the fell beast's life but not his own. Cousland was a bit of an enigma from then on, the feats he performed could be performed by a well organized group of silver tongues and hardened warriors but in a single man, nigh impossible to fathom.

Again she found herself romanticising her husband. Her King. Her King-Consort, the Hero of Ferelden. But like any man with the position, power, and titles he held - when word came from some of the soldiers of Amaranthine that in his brief time as Commander of the Grey that he had bedded at least once another Warden, a Dalish mage even. With years of practice Erlina, her Elven handmaiden and confidant, was quick to hush the scandal with sovereigns and thinly-veiled threats. Both women were no stranger to her first husband's cuckoldry but this time it stung far far more.

She knew of the Apostate that had accompanied him throughout The Blight, and her tenuous connection to the infamous Flemeth. The Wilder Woman was one of the members of the party that masqueraded as a guard during Anora's rescue, and also the orchestrator of The Warden's rescue when he had allowed his own capture. Even then the whispers of the two being more than allies in the quest end The Blight had floated through the taverns and into Erlina's pointed ears.

Upon meeting him Anora could see the young noble revelled in the bloodshed and darkness that spread across the land. Before this all she knew of him was from jubilant talk of his exploits at tournaments, but this was to be expected of every person who bore the name of Cousland by either blood or marriage. They were always a strong House, with pride tempered by loyalty, their only fault was that the rest of the nobles did not share their views.

Sitting there she never noticed Erlina approaching her from behind, brush in hand, until she felt the bun of hair unfurl and brush against her neck.

"I thought I said I'd be in the study shortly", Anora spoke hiding the start she felt inside.

"I know, but unfortunately that was well over an hour ago. I searched for you in your chambers but something told me you were in - His."

"Something or someone?"

"Intuition, Mistress."

"Ah."

"You do not mind?"

"No no, go on. As long as someone is doing something constructive."

In Erlina's time serving both in Gwaren and now Denerim, she found the members of the House of Mac Tir communicated their feelings through subtle gestures and intonations rather than fully voicing their concerns or worries. A private Father-Daughter moment could be little better than a nod and grasp of hands but told more that a public embraced shared shortly after her wedding ceremonies. Anora's sigh told the Orlesian Elf of conflict and longing, which was unusual to find in the Queen until these last pair of years of relative peace and prosperity.

"Any word from - Father?" Anora inquired.

"In his latest missive he sends his regards and asks again about the usual goings on of Ferelden and basically anything that could possibly excuse him away from the Order at Orlais."

This brought a slight chuckle to the Queen, freeing her from the somber that pervaded the stone clad room.

"Anything else?"

"He wonders again about the chance of an heir."

"Beyond the usual, Erlina."

"Ah yes, he sent me a small package from my family in the Alienage."

"Truly?"

"Indeed, Mistress. Its my Mother's journal and some portraits of the rest of my family done in Charcoal. Would you care to see them?"

"Later, Erlina, with supper if you're still interested in sharing."

"Yes, Mistress."

"So, nothing else of note of his time with the Wardens?"

"You understand how he is, my Queen. Your Father is well aware I review your correspondence so there was a second letter sealed with the Mac Tir signet."

"I shall - take care of that later. Much later, Erlina."

Together they sat in silence as Erlina continued her soft strokes of her Majesty's golden strands.

A soft cough, issued from her attendant.

"Yes, Erlina?"

"Ah, it appears some cultists were found on march to Highever, to burn an effigy of the King and possibly more for killing their scaled deities. Some even spoke of him defeating a creature that had no name in the King's Speak that commanded the Drakes they protected to attack and be slain by the King himself."

"He did what?"

"It is just the words of the Mad. Nothing more, Mistress. Although it was said he was accompanied by an Elven woman and a Mage when he entered the Dragonbone Wastes. That they returned from their travails in the area with only his Hound."

"Elven Mage?"

"No, my Queen, I spoke of a Dalish warrior and a Mage named Finn from the Circle Tower."

"I - understand."

Erlina stopped her ministrations, "Do you wish for me to...?"

"What of his companions? Specifically any of the non-Wardens that are capable of tracking him or at least willing to venture where he has gone?"

Erlina quietly contemplated her next response, as she searched her memory for anyone who was not gone nor had undertaken the Joining.

"Zevran Arainai, the Antivan - ah, former Antivan Crow is still here abouts, Mistress."

"The assassin, really?"

"The King did speak quite favorably of his skill."

"I have also heard Arainai was unable to kill him even when lying in ambush and greatly outnumbering him."

"Yes but neither could the Archdemon and its horde- nor your Father and his plans, for that matter."

"Hmm, then... very well, send for him. We will speak in private and will pay what he wishes."

"As you require, my Queen."

Anora closed her eyes and kept count of the brush's rhythm. 


	12. Chapter 12

"You're - useless to me - in this - condition", Morrigan panted as she was laid on her side, coupled to her lover as he was locked about her like a spoon. His still wounded back had culled more than a number of their favored positions leaving them to become slightly more creative in their passions.

"Us wardens are renown for our - improvisation, you must admit", he teased before leaving another careful bite on neck. She reached back and grabbed a handful of his hair as he continued to thrust forth.

While lacking the voracity of past encounters, they found themselves enjoying one another in new ways. Morrigan had to continuously bat her lover's hands away from her breasts, having engorged during her current separation from the child, for they held a renewed fascination with Cousland. His grip, while gentle still caused quite a bit of discomfort due to the unspent milk, which he had eagerly volunteered to remedy.

"Enough!" she loosed in a hushed cry, again tearing his paws off of her chest to which the Warden relented. Even lost amidst shared moans and grunts a corner of her mind still awaited the return of her child and his unnatural keeper.

Bemused, Cousland watched the woman haphazardly redress in a near-quiet flurry of limb and cloth. Never had he seen Morrigan so - overwrought for such a thing as propriety. This Wilder Woman born to a creature such a Flemeth and having so long lived in a hut studying tomes and scrolls, and all things arcane, was now - not reduced as she might imply - but rather promoted to such a state of motherhood.

His own state of nudity brought him back to the present when his own raiment were slapped into his nethers rather violently.

"Ow, woman! Careful its still-"

"Shush, I've no immediate use of it. Now get dressed and tarry no longer", she commanded before she strode out of the tent with renewed purpose.

"Father would've just adored you", he spoke under breath before carefully removing the various clothing which included buckled leathers from his lap and tenderly dressing himself. His thoughts immediately went to his weapons and armor, the climate of this area was far different from the cold and damp of Ferelden. Here the dry heat would eventually crack the straps and expand the metal eyelets and hinges that kept the plates together, he'd have to adjust and treat them soon to keep them in working order should another unforeseen threat descend upon them. With that he exited the tent and decided to share a word with the Mother of his child.

"Now listen here, woman now that-" the words stuck in his throat.

Before him stood Omen and Morrigan, the child safely in his mother's arms but behind them a small party of armed men arrayed in a patchwork of styles of armor last seen in painting from ages past. At the forefront of this curiously armored force was - no it couldn't - or could it be?

"Duncan?", his voice thick with shock.

"Hail, young Cousland. Its been quite some time since we last spoke, has it not?" 


	13. Chapter 13

"Duncan?", the Warden repeated, his eyes wildly dancing back and forth across the sight of his old mentor.

"Yes?" his predecessor asked, standing there clad in a variety of leather and plate armors that had clearly seen better centuries. His beard had a peppering of gray, and a general weariness could be seen in his eyes.

Morrigan watched as the scene unfolded, her Warden suddenly dropped to his knees nearly prostrating himself, his head bowed low. She'd witness Cousland at various states throughout journeys but never humbled as he was now. It was nearly more than she could bear as she edged away from the pack of men that Duncan seemed to be the head of.

"I - I... Alistair, he-", Cousland stuttered, almost sobbing.

"I know, I know", Duncan squatted and placed a reassuring hand on the Noble's shoulders. "When Riordan arrived here he informed us of what transpired and what you had accomplished in- our absence. Alistair made his choice, as did you both. The Grey Wardens are not about doing what is Good but rather what is Right - what is necessary in ending The Blights as they come."

The Warden looked up, eyes reddened, "Riordan?"

"Yes, he was here- if only briefly. The next Wardens that arrived were a peppering of those who had undertaken The Calling in the Anderfels and other regions, and after some talk with the Dwarves learned of the victory in Ferelden. What was curious were the reports from the handful of Orlesian Wardens that had been sent to Ferelden to reinforce the ranks - where they said you personally slayed the Archdemon but lived becoming both King and then appointed as Warden-Commander by Weisshaupt."

Cousland cleared his throat and arose, an uneasiness washed over him as Duncan held him in gaze of suspicion. He looked to Morrigan and caught her glare, this world was old and dangerous. Already attacked by those that populated this place, how would Duncan and those that stood with him respond to the news of his pact had made with his beloved? That the child that had remained oddly quiet since his arrival carried within the essence of the tainted fiend that commanded the deaths of nearly all the Wardens in Ferelden.

"He survived by strength of will - alone," Morrigan spoke up and continued with a few choice words dripping with disdain, "from what I've heard you yourself saw something in him when you bothered to recruit him. Is it not true that Grey Wardens are warriors without peer? Who can possibly ever claim to have brought low an Archdemon and lived to tell? No one but this - man - before you."

With this Cousland straightened up a bit, the Witch's disapproval he'd more than likely hear of later.

"Hmm," Duncan contemplated her words his eyes settling on the little squirming bundle in her arms. "A child?"

"'Tis mine", she quickly asserted.

"And mine", Cousland intoned.

"We - have not seen a child in all our time in this world. I must say this all very curious and a bit disquieting. You are unlike the rest of the Wardens that have arrived, yet you are not driven to madness by our presence like the other denizens that follow an endless loop of a path to nowhere."

"Enough insinuations, do you have reason for following our companion and child to our camp, hmm?" Morrigan held her ground and narrowed her gaze.

"Ah, yes," Duncan replied slightly unnerved, "our scouts reported of some odd fires they had seen in this direction and I have led a small band here to investigate if any drakes or dragons had fallen upon any new arrivals."

She arched a brow, "Dragons? There are dragons here? Most odd."

"Yes, their numbers were few at first but for some reason Drakes and Dragonlings, and the odd Dragon started to appear over time. Even a High Dragon has been reported by scouts but have yet to make an assault on the fortress."

"Fortress?" Cousland's interested piqued.

"To the North - or what passes for North", the men about Duncan uttered contemptuous murmurs. "Do not worry, men. This man here can be trusted."

"Its not him we worry about, Ser", one of them gestured at Morrigan and Omen. "The - hooded one."

"Our son's caretaker, I assure you."

"She is somewhat odd", Duncan offered.

"And she can speak for herself, thank you", the demoness piped up. "I am-"

"None of their concern", Morrigan interjected, "as they will be on their way back to their uninteresting, far away fortress now that they are aware that there is neither a Dragon nor obvious threat present in our tiny little, once rather private camp."

Duncan looked from Cousland to Morrigan, sweat had made their clothing cling to various parts of their bodies and matted their dishevelled hair. He cleared his throat as a bit of a blush rose to his ashen cheeks. "Ah - yes, well... if you do decide to seek aid from us, we are about a day's journey to the North."

With a slight gesture of his hand the men fell in line, turned and began to venture back from whence they came. There was still so much Cousland wish to know but he reminded himself that he had given up even being a Grey Warden when he followed Morrigan. Rule was no longer his life, nor was the Order, it was now his Family and he would honor and cherish it.

"If anything, Duncan, it was good to see you again."

The old Commander of the Grey nodded before turning heel and following the procession. 


	14. Chapter 14

The windless, rouge landscape played host to silence once again as the travellers packed up their meager camp. Omen busied herself by arranging tiny bundles of various plants that occasionally dotted the path she traversed while the child's parents recuperated. Here she tied them to a leather strap cut from one of the two crossbows that would allow her to carry the carefully cut bundles across her back as they air dried.

Most of the time she spent out in the strange wilderness of this dead world was spent looking for food and water, but also she would hum and sing to the boy. Even though her own children were products of her will and her husband's fantasies, the Witch and Warden's son was far different from anything her "family" had encountered as they explored the mortal realm. The child's eyes were much like his Mother's, a sharp honeyed-amber, and when they locked upon her she'd shiver. For all her power in The Fade, and her dealings with other demons and beings of various capabilities and intent, none had ever shaken her such as this one babe.

Ever quiet, the child rarely made a peep besides a half-wailed cry of hunger or a burble of passing gas, thus why she felt the need to fill the quiet with song. His queer presence was enough to recall her time in The Fade, the place she had spent so much time attempting to be free of, and now it felt a comfort to her after her harsh reception upon arriving in this static land. Yet even still she adored the child in the absence of her own.

Morrigan, on the other hand, was more intent on the safety of their group as she scrounged for heavy stones to place on the crude, hand dug graves Omen had constructed the previous night. She'd have to be more conservative with her use of Blood Magic in the future. The creatures that attacked them acted as men in their own presence but it only took so long before they became savage. When a pair of Vaughn's men pursued her as she and the child fled, she thought to scare them off with a fireball, instead she now had two flaming enraged attackers. Drawing upon her life force again she awakened the terrors of their former lives within them and with that they panicked and fled.

She was indeed thankful that the Warden accompanied her, while her magic was indeed formidable, some of the situations in this world would be better to rely on cunning or blades than spells and totems. With the back of her hand she wiped away a sheet of sweat from her forehead as she stood back and inspected her labors. Hopefully the weight of rock piles would hinder the dead men as their bodies stitched together before they clawed their way back to the surface.

Looking back towards the main campsite, Morrigan spied her Cousland as he broke the damaged tents down, a process that usually went much faster but with the head of the bolt still stuck within him, putting too much strain on his back muscles would cause it to saw further into him and bleeding would start anew.

"Warden," she called to him, "I'd care to speak with you."

"Speak or yell?"

Morrigan sighed and crossed over to him, not lifting a finger help him though.

"I wish to converse with you, civilly, about the Wardens."

"Yeah, thought as much. What of it, Morrigan? You want to know if I wanted to go with them to the fortress? That I was intrigued as to why they did not attack us like the others? Or that dragons exist here and that they seek out the Wardens?"

She stood there patiently listening, staying true to her word.

"Well its true. For an infinitesimle moment I considered going. Such is my nature since taking over a kingdom and an entire Arling dedicated to the Wardens, but I cast that thought out as quickly as it came. I am not here for that. That part of my life is over - long over. It might as well be beneath your diligent stonework there."

The witch pursed her lips for a moment before replying, "And your - display?"

The Warden turned away from her and continued bundling the tent stakes he had already collected.

"Well?"

"Alistair was like a - no matter how much his existence displeased you, I - care for him. No matter how much he hates me for my choices, I still care. Its just that so much has gone on, Duncan being... just being here, me seeing him, me getting to meet him again. It just wasn't fair."

"So?"

Cousland quickly turned to her with an incredulous face.

"Ugh, what I mean is - his time will come, maybe soon as he is quite on his own by his personal choice and without you to save him - from himself."

"Thanks?"

"Just do not do that again. Do not show weakness before - our Son. You are his example and as such the man he model himself to be."

He finished the last wrap of twine about the stakes and tied it off, "Well I am only a man, Morrigan."

"Fine. Out here, before everyone else and the eyes of child, be strong", she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned in closely, "but you remember this, and remember it well, you may only share your weakness with me."

He rested his rough hands on her hips, steadying himself as their lips met. Like a pair of adolescents rather than a long passionate kiss it was rather several short kisses, at the end of which he witnessed her smile. By the Maker he silently wished he left at least one the tents up.

"You're smiling like a cat content, Woman."

"What of it?"

"Does that make me the canary?"

"I do believe I prefer my prey to be much larger", she laughed.

They released each other and both began placing the camp assembly into their respective carry sacks.

"Something just came to me, Morrigan."

"The tents are packed and you are far too indulgent with your Son's milk."

"No, no, it just occurred to me that every time I go on to some venture involving you there are always demons or dragons involved."

"Think of it this way, My Love. At least it is not required of you to lug about some dusty old tome."

Cousland narrowed his eyes at her before producing a large book with Ancient Elven script across the cover from one of Morrigan's bags. Morrigan's head sunk low for a moment.

"Blast and damnation!"

"You forgot to leave it behind. Ariane is probably livid."

Morrigan sighed deeply, "it shall be returned - someday. Not soon, but when He is ready for what is to come."


	15. Chapter 15

In her time as Queen, Anora has had to put forth a strong front before her people, the Nobility, and even foreign Dignitaries which sometimes meant doing things she normally would never actively pursue. Wearing armor before a major conflict was one, most of that involved the tedium of being adorned in fine plate and then the tedium of its removal, but today involved two more things she didn't relish. One of which was ride a horse, which was not particular necessary in Ferelden's past as they were more of a luxury for Royalty and Nobles, had become a necessity following the Orlesian occupation where armored Chevalier stormed into battle decimating the mabari packs and infantry lines. Yes, her Father insisted upon her instruction for combat purposes, but once King Maric's tutors got ahold of her she learned to ride like a proper Lady.

Neither set of lessons were forgotten but at this time the horse's gait was leaving her a bit queasy, and it was no boon to her that she was currently trotting about the top deck of the newly finished Royal flagship on a rather windy day. Again, more of Maric's tutors had taught her high winds made for a choppy sea, the roiling of which gave her complexion a touch of green. Even with Erlina's advice no amount of pressure on the flesh between her thumb and pointer finger could quell the nausea completely. At this time, Vann would have chimed in with a quiet whispers of comforting distractions to focus her mind away from the vessel's lolling, instead she had to maintain a forced grin with eyes that plead for the Maker's Mercy while quietly bruising her right hand.

Her husband had commissioned a small set of ships in order to help ferry back Ferelden refugees that has scattered across Thedas due to the Blight. It was both a message to his people and the other nations that they did not forget their citizens, nor the kindness of those that accepted them in their time of need. It was a costly measure in light of the thousands that sojourned into The Free Marches, Orlais, and other reaches of the continent; but he had always been insistent that they reunite as many families as possible and that many could not possibly afford to return on their own.

While most of the small fleet were transports and smaller security vessels, the flagship itself would carry supplies for the refugee's voyage and the gifts for each of the nations they would visit. It was due to the concerted effort of both the Merchants Guild and the people of Orzammar that they could afford to even provide gifts of precious stones and rare metals, so it was at present that representatives from the Merchants Guild and King Bhelen's court were giving overly long speeches extolling their pride in their contribution to the rescue effort. Their efforts were most welcome but came with a price that Anora still did not agree with, the usual trade levies taken in the Arling of Amaranthine and with all trade done with Orzammar were heavily reduced. Nevertheless even in the King's absence she did not seek to change agreements behind his back as he had often acquiesced to her own dealings in the kingdom with little hesitation. Thoughts of the errant Cousland only made her stomach sour further, and she emitted a light burp she prayed no one heard.

"You are quite excused, your Excellency", a voice whispered up to her.

Her eyes widened a bit, that was all that she dared reveal of her surprise and embrassment. The voice that spoke carried an Antivan accent, and with a carefully timed shifting in the saddle she allowed her gaze to search the area around her, to which she spied a Shield-Maiden that now stood next to her mount that was not there when she had boarded. A polite fake cough allowed her to lean forward and notice the pointed ear hidden by a strands of hastily gathered blonde hair.

"Thank you... Zevran", she whispered back.

"Ah, most good of you to remember me, your Highness. The Warden's choice in women was always - impeccable. Err, the King's, I should say."

"Should we be doing this - here of all places?"

"The money men and the bearded ones have so much nothing to say, why waste the day with their hot air when we can whisper things that shall be lost to the winds."

She thought on this a moment before responding, "Fine. So I take it Erlina already compensated you for your services?"

"Oh I dare not charge the wife of my good friend, The King. But your silken flower of a handmaiden did pay a fairly - handsome - price for arranging this meeting", she could almost hear the grin in his voice, "but if you are so inclined to discuss the payment feel free to ask your fair Erlina. I'm sure she'll have quite the tale to share."

Anora's interest was piqued but already the Merchants Guild representative had cleared his throat and had begun his half of the proceedings.

"So, I wish for you to locate - him, for me."

"Him?", Zevran questioned for a quick moment, "Oh, you mean. Oh, that dastardly fiend left on a clandestine adventure without me? I... am crushed."

"Please, bring him back to - home. Or at least if he cannot-", she couldn't finish her sentence, as another burble of her stomach threatened disaster.

"Oh my Queen, I... understand", he dared to cast a quick glance up at her as she leaned forwared in the saddle, "and may I be frank, seafoam is not a good color on you."

"I am fine", she lied.

"Dare I say you look to be in a - particularly fragile condition, saying this as the women in the place I was raised often feared being caught in such a state."

"You do dare too much, Elf" she glowered like a true Mac Tir.

"Then I shall leave you be, and use my overly perceptive powers of detection towards finding your fugitive," but before he departed he added, "might I inquire if this is possibly the reason he fled or does he simply not know yet?"

"Just go!" Anora half burped-half commanded, she mashed a gloved hand to her mouth to hold back any further emissions. The assassin's words brought a welcome distraction as her thoughts clouded her nausea. A moment passed and with her innards calmed, she looked back to the side of her horse and found herself alone in a sea of pomp and circumstance.


	16. Chapter 16

"So", Morrigan began as they trudged along the seemingly endless redscape before them. "Dragons, demons, and tomes are the markers for any such trek or quest that involves me, and yet it seems, my Love, that anywhere you go must be done step-by-step. No clippity-clop of horsey hooves or trundle of carriage or wagon wheel, no no step-by-weary-step your companions must travel."

"Horsey... hooves?", Cousland questioned, a bit of mirth in his voice.

The Witch opened her mouth but her voice caught in her throat, a redness burned in her cheeks, "The child-".

"Yes, I understand", he grinned broadly. With a wince he shifted his pack of arms and armor to his other shoulder and matched stride with Morrigan who carried an ever watchful child in her arms. His son was studying his Mother's features intently, fascinated by the sudden blush of her cheeks.

"He has your eyes."

"Yes, he does", she replied while matching her child's stare. "But I must say he has your sense of humor - which is rather disturbing."

"How can you tell? He hasn't said a word."

"It is in his actions. I give him something he reaches for and then suddenly he tosses it as far as his pudgy arms can hurl it. I then retrieve it and return it to him, and then he repeats his effort. The child can do this over and again, somehow without tiring. Thus I blame you for this trait."

"Morrigan, its just a baby being a baby. In fact I believe he is learning how to train you."

"What? Nonsense, 'tis a child", she turned and gave the Warden a sour look.

"Yes, our child."

Morrigan returned her gaze back to their son, "Hmm, you might have a point."

Omen cleared her throat causing Cousland to hesitantly turn away from his Family.

"Warden! I've spotted a building in the distance."

He looked over in the direction she was pointing and spotted a tiny silhouette in the distance, "Really? The speck on the horizon is a building?"

"Yes, you doubt me?" With a flick of her head she doffed off the hood of her robe and stared him down.

"Uhh, no", his eyes lingered on the jagged stubs of her horns. No matter how many times he faced an Ogre he always dreaded the possibility of goring, and he dared not chance the posssiblity of being impaled even now.

"Enough posturing you two. If Omen says there is somewhere we can possibly take shelter in our time here, then by all means let us venture forth. I tire and the child squirms so." Morrigan spoke before handing their baby over to Omen, calming the former desire demon.

To be very honest, Vann Cousland was itching for a real fight. Not an ambush. Not a night raid. Not a trap. Okay maybe a trap but an obvious one with his opponents believing they were on the winning side of horribly one-sided odds. Just a really good, long, drag out fight with swords and daggers; bucklers and bloodied noses; flaps of flesh anointing the already red soil a deeper shade of crimson with every ounce spilt. This is what the very core of his being lusted for as they approached the stone-carved dwelling. The door swung to and fro despite the slowly maddening reminder this land had an absence of any wind. The lights in the sky were already beginning their casual dim towards the twinkling of twilight, shadows danced in the doorway.

"Should you not being putting on your armor or even arming yourself instead of standing there grinning like an Alistair."

"Don't you mean 'idiot'", he spoke before dropping his pack in front and then kneeling to begin drawing out his breast plate and swords.

"Do not correct me. I know my words."

"You bring him up alot, you know that?"

"Do I detect needless jealousy?"

"Just -umph- fascination. For someone you detest so much you bring him up an awful lot", he winced as he tightened the straps on his chest piece. The flare of pain began to trigger some of Oghren's Dwarven Berserker training, but he controlled his breathing and stilled his growing rage.

"Mother and yourself both forced me to march with him for all that time. It was simply alot of stupid to absorb, so it is quite difficult to forget."

"You bickered like siblings."

"Bite your tongue", she visibly shuddered, "now get ready we shall press forth with you at the-"

"Whoa, hold there."

"Do not address me like a common pack animal."

"Okay, but you are not going in. This is me - my part in this Family. I go in speak sternly into the darkness and make sure no monsters are under the bed. Its a Father's duty."

"I am not a weakling besides Omen shall guard the child."

"No", he ended the discussion in a way that would've left Sten non-plussed on the outside but rather pleased on the inside.

Morrigan pursed her lips and turned away from the Warden and began to fuss with the babe while Omen continued to look on. The Demoness watched as the passive face of Cousland sharpened into a menacing grin, all teeth, quivering lips, and silent snarls. He drew his blades and marched inside.

Omen passed the child back to its Mother and continued to watch intently on the darkening scene as The Warden pushed open the door with the red-bladed sword. He loosed a harsh Mabari-like growl into the dwelling before stepping in. After that there was nothing but silence for but a brief moment before it broken by the sounds of shuffling and a sharp hiss.

"DRAGON!", the Warden loosed a bloodcurdling warning cry as blue flame bloomed from the doorway.


	17. Chapter 17

Hate.

It is a strong word, often times considered to be the opposite of love. In this case Cousland's childhood love of Dragons was soured by his last meeting with his beloved's not-so-dear Mother. As his body hair sizzled and popped whilst diving out of immediate danger of the wingless beast's breath, Cousland began to weave a tapestry of obscenities and curses that would have done Fergus proud.

A dragon, rather a drake, took up residence in the sodding lone, rune-scrawled, stone dwelling that his precious party had happened upon. A bull of a Drake too, as its overly muscled tail shook the very foundation as it thumped the remainder of the walls like a rather displeased cat. He was used to much smaller creatures that could be dispatched with a carefully placed arrow strike by Leliana or frozen and shattered by his all-time favorite spellcaster.

Instead he resigned himself to literally enacting a boyhood fantasy, braving the fury of a fell-beast for the protection of his princess. Although his princess was a Chasind Apostate, and his bravery replaced with a head full of hot cotton and a mouthful of foul language. After he ran out of curses of the King's Tongue and a peppering of Dalish, Antivan, Orlesian, and even those of the Qun, he gave into the madness of the situation with laughter.

The Drake hissed and belted out a growl instead of fire. It knew it was being mocked, the thumping of its tail increased, and began snaking its neck as it maneuvered for a more intimate encounter using its teeth.

"BRING IT!" he cried as he let his Maric's own sword slash across the jagged wall of its upper teeth, causing its head draw back and it hissed in pain. Battle, oh how he needed this. Wanted it. Badly enough to not allow it to end so quickly.

"If you wanted a fight... you certainly found it, you scaly sonuvabitch", Cousland spat.

It eyed his fiercely in the dark, its yellow orbs danced back and forth as if looking for a new avenue of attack. Its size and bearing were non-factors thanks to the confines of the building. Its body long ago had laid waste to the partitions that had divided up the building, now it was little more than a dilapidated, rubble filled chamber.

"C'mon! You fear me? Do you? ATTACK! Rend me. Break me. I want blood and I don't care whose, beast."

It did not flinch, nor strike. The hump of its spine grated against the ceiling as it retreated as far back as its bulk allowed.

"I've spilled enough of your kind's blood. I've broken your young with my bare hands in the Silverite Mines back home. Even took an egg and placed it as a prize in Vigil's Keep. They said this was your age, your time, your kind an omen of what was to come. Instead we broke you - your damnable High Dragon - even one of the Gods of Old. It fell before my blade so as I ruled over its life and death, I command you give me fealty... OR A BLOODY FIGHT!" the Warden roared and started forward his blades out like a human pitchfork.

Hate coursed through him. Hate for Howe's betrayal, and for Flemeth's saving grace. Hate for the petty politics of the Dwarves, and the Dalish Keeper's curseful vengeance. Hate for Loghain's bounds to duty and Alistair's startling absence. Most of all he hated himself for letting Morrigan go and all the decisions that he made in her absence.

The creature lowered its head, flush with the dusty surface, and in his blind fury the Warden didn't notice the Drake's lack of fight as he brought both his blades to bear down upon the Drake's head. The weapons bit deeply into the flesh and piercing the skull, the yellow light in the Drake's eyes flared for a moment and slowly began to dim as the warrior twisted and moved the pommels with an almost sickened glee.

Cousland released the weapons, leaving them be in their immobile scabbard, and took a few steps back to examine his handiwork.

"So you chose to yield after all", he sighed disgustedly. "I take you heal like every other being that ends up here, and thus you probably still live no matter the amount of scrambling I give the contents of your brain pan."

Pacing for a spell, he decided to withdraw the blades and watched as the dragon's flesh knitted itself back together with a speed only seen in Wynne's magicks.

"Amazing."

"I - yield", the Drake spoke through both murmur and hiss.  
Vann's mind came to an impasse, half of him wanted to put the swords right back where they had just been with an even more violent jostling, but the other half was stunned by the utterance.

"Scratch that, now THAT is amazing. You yield?"

"Yesss", the light in its eyes returned to a soft amber glow.

"Alright, I'll give. Swear to me that you are mine to do with as I please. Swear now and swear it well, as if I can deliver unto you a thousand deaths each more painful that the last." Which he probably could considering the peculiar nature of this place.

The thing laid there, its head still rested upon the gore stained floor, its breathing grew from shallow ragged bursts to more smoother, deeper draughts, "I swear to the Protector of Urthmiel that I am bound unto him that both defeated me and shall free me from my accursed prison."

"Whoa, hold - hold on there a moment, free you? I'm doing favors now?"

"How am I to serve you if I am confined in this dusty chamber? The Stone keeps me so. It is a prison, a punishment for being of my kind. For making war with the Stone and those that serve it."

He still couldn't believe he was talking to a dragon, of all things.

"Again, the building is your prison? You were just in the middle of smashing about, it didn't seem so stable to hold a beast of- your girth."

The drake remained silent and continued its rhythmic breathing pattern.

"Rest, we must rest. Next light we breach the runes and I will be free to serve."

"Oh, and now you're giving orders. Wonderful. How - how can you speak again? Did I do that? Did I shake your tongue loose?"

"Sleep. But without dreaming. Here there are no dreams to be had."

Cousland just stared at the mass of scales and muscle before him as it drifted into a fitful sleep as if the past several minutes did not just occur. Mouth still still slightly agape he stepped out of the stone-dwelling, dragging his blades on either side of himself like a spent child done with play.

"Well, is it dead?", Morrigan asked as she reclined against the pile of packs they all once carried, the child nursing away, not wasting the opportunity provided by the break from their marathon.

The Warden just stood there, lost in his own world. Omen took the time to remove his weapons and unfastened the chest place. A bit of blood ran freely from the wound, having seeped through the cloth of his armor's padding, to which the purple hued woman tended to with another torn swathe of her robe.

"Again, the 'dragon', is it dealt with as promised, hmm?"

"It knows about our Pup's special little soul, and now sleeps after having sworn allegiance to me."

Morrigan blinked back a touch of shock, "It swore... allegiance - to you?"

Despite Omen's ministrations, Cousland pushed the demoness away, and motioned for Morrigan to move away from the packs. "Rather blunt about it too. Its trapped in the building. Prison. Oh, and we are to free it come morning so it can, you know, serve me."

She scrunched her features and nodded dissent, as she continued to feed their child. "That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, are you not sure you took a blow to the skull? You are uttering nonsense."

"Be that as it may, I want the tents up as soon as possible. I am tired and more than that far, far more aroused than I have been in a long while", He stood hovering over her until the child finished taking his fill. With that Morrigan handed Omen the baby once again, and they went to assembling the tents for the night.


	18. Chapter 18

"Honestly, must you tear into my spare clothes in such a manner?", Morrigan found herself flat on her back straddled by the Warden, as he tore at her breastwrap with one hand. Each yank picked her up slightly off the meager bedroll, "It is a wrap, you know. It need only be uncoiled."  
He did not listen instead he simply changed tactics and pulled it down her torso a bit freeing her breasts, nipples still plump and damp from the recent feeding. Cousland leaned forward, his other arm holding him steady above her, and just looked upon the Wilder Woman. The fight in him, the rage that bubbled forth and were expressed in his would-be deathblow of the Drake, had given way to an excitement he had almost forgotten from their travels across Ferelden.

In the early months she'd easily go to his tent, usually with feigned protests or some other spot of sarcasm, and passions ran high. He splattered in the remains of his enemies, and she drenched in her own sweat from dashing out of harms way long enough to cast much needed spells. As a warrior it was his job to take the heaviest blows for the rest of their party, and thus in their nights of passion she'd teasingly jab at his bruises and gashes, finding that his body's response would turn his wilting manhood back into a suitable condition. She would keep to her word, their nights were never over until they both had had their fill. Each encounter was a meeting of equals, and nothing less would suffice, and he grew to love her for it.

Her eyes were magnificent shade of halcyon, behind their impassive gaze, he could glimpse a ghost of her excitement. They had fallen into their old patterns, such as before she began denying his requests out of what he still believed was guilt rather than necessity. He parted his lips and lowered his mouth upon hers. Before their lips had truly met her tongue was already grazing his own.

After the kiss came the tenderness of his toying. Lips trailing across her cheek, the curve of her chin, down her neck then between her breasts, which he kneaded mercilessly while lightly flicking his tongue in and out of her navel. Morrigan's toes curled, as much as she enjoyed the thrusts to come it was Vann's lighter touches that she craved. The other men from her other life could thrust and groan, their lives spent at her or Flemeth's whims, but the Warden was the first who took the time to - appreciate all that she was- all that she had to offer.

The sounds from their tent grew both in volume and frequency, and not wanting to wake the child, Omen crept away from their dark camp with him in her arms. It was curious how he could slumber so, his Mother was extremely vocal of her pleasures and his Father seemed content in urging her further. Despite her own past in the both the Fade and the Mortal Realm, Omen preferred a demure expression of her passions even going as far as finding a careful balance of memory and fantasy to keep her hosts at a manageable tone.

Curiosity piqued her interest as she neared the rune-covered building their camp was just outside of. What exactly had the Warden done inside the stone chamber to silence the dragon? His demeanor after having left the battle scene was bordering on madness. His words a jumble of clipped statements and odd logic. The dragon had spoken to him about the baby. The beast spoke, she knew of Rage Demons that had taken hold of Dragonlings and youthful Drakes, their misadventures were often cut short by larger female Dragons who instinctively knew both their young and breeding partners were acting out of sorts.

But here it was different, could the creature be as she? Had it been large enough to flee or defend itself from reprisal by its winged-partner? Or did the demon lure it away with enough time to bind itself to the scaled animal and the demon embracing its host as she had done herself?

Lost in thought and egged on by her inquisitiveness she edged into the doorway, careless of both her and the child's safety.


	19. Chapter 19

"As Mother always said, 'Never play Bones with a Dalish'", the Mage stated before his chin sunk to his chest.

"The saying is actually 'Never play Bones with knife-ears'", the young Dalish women corrected as she snatched up the set of dice.

His head shot up, "Are you calling my Mother a liar?"

"Oh quit your lip trembling, Finn. I was just correcting her- you."

"My lip was not trembling. It was quivering. With rage. Manly rage."

"Uh-huh", the warrior responded before rattling the the dice in her tiny fist.

"I'm serious. I could have gone off on you - like a dwarf. All- all, berserker. BLAH! BLAH! BLAH-BLAH!", his eyes widened and raised his open hands above his head.

She brought her fist to her mouth and attempted to stifle her laughter.

"I like it when you do that, Ariane."

"Laughing at you?"

"When the tips of your ears turn a shade of crimson."

"Ah", her mirthful smile dimmed a bit. Her head and neck seemed to shrink back a bit in embarrassment.

"No, I- I'm - yeah- uhh not making light of your ears. They're rather lovely and pointy and look terribly soft."

The red of her ears spread to her cheeks, "Oh, thank you?"

Awkward silence fell over their humble camp. The two companions remained seated in one of the few level grassy patches in the midst of the Brecillian Forest. Both suddenly found rather remarkable things to stare at, Finn an upside down beetle that had no legs and upon further scrutiny was simply a rock; and Ariane investigated a particularly green leaf on a bush full of equally green-looking leaves. A heavy chuff from their third companion broke the silence as the Mabari trotted over to the fire oblivious of the awkwardness shared by the Mage and Elf.

"Eww," Finn's nose scrunched in disgust, "you reek of pee."

"I do not," a flash of anger crossed her still red countenance.

"The- dog", Finn motioned to the hound as it plopped itself overly close to to the mage's resting spot. A proud bark was issued.

"Oh, right. Sorry."

"Actually I should take the moment to apologize for accidentally-"

Her brow wrinkled, "Accidently? You stood there for Fen'Harel knows how long as I bathed under the waterfall."

"You were directly beneath its flow, I couldn't tell what I was seeing. Besides I only came over 'cause I had a feeling you might be in danger. For all I knew you could've been drowning!"

The Mabari let loose a subdued bark.

"Don't defend, him! And what do they teach you in that haughty tower of yours? How does one drown standing up beneath a waterfall?" Ariane began throwing each die, one by one, at the apologetic man.

"Ow, OW! Those hurt, you- tiny- hurter. Well technically one could - OW! could open their mouth and then DAMMIT! That smarts!"

The Dalish battle-maiden held up the last die betwixt her thumb and forefinger and carefully aimed. Finn began curling up into a smaller target in hopes that the dog could serve as a furry meatshield. "NOT IN THE FACE!", he cried as she launched it. A bronzed hand deftly caught the cube in midair.

"Ooh, Halla Horn dice. Very rare and very expensive to find even in the seedier parts of the Antivan markets", the stranger spoke whilst holding up the piece before the opening of his cloak's hood.

Ariane attempted to retrieve one of her blades she had carefully left just within reach behind herself but felt nothing in their place but flattened grass.

"Ah, ah, my pretty. This is a social call and not a sparring session. Your weapons are safe and sound - nearby. As is your Mage-friend's staff. Call it insurance."

"I can still work magic without it you- you- blagguard."

"Ooh, there is that manly rage."

His comment infuriated Ariane, "What - do - you - want?"

"Information... of a royal nature."

Finn's back stiffened.

"Ah ha, so the King-consort has indeed been in your company. What would he need of a bookish spellcaster and a - rather fetching, hmm, Dalish Scout?"

The Mabari hound finally decided to rise from his resting place and padded over to the hooded figure, snuffling at the stranger's outstretched hand for a moment before giving a rather amicable bark.

"Traitor", Ariane called at the dog.

"He is no traitor. The hound simply knows how to gauge a threat properly. I am Zevran", the elf pulled back his hood and then took a overly dramatic bow before sitting with them by the fire.

"Not only have I been sent to track down our errant King, but also I was once a member of his - ragtag team of Blight Quelling underdogs. Along with the rather unpleasant smelling darkspawn slayer you have right here."

An assenting woof echoed the Assassin's sentiment.

"Maybe you should've joined her in bathing, you are quite rank my furry friend."

"I told you there was a threat about!" Finn interjected.

"One must study his quarry intimately before making any kind of interaction, and might I say you Dalish really like your tattoos - everywhere."  
Ariane shook her head and sighed.

"What does he mean?"

"Hush, Finn. What do you want to know... Zevran, is it?"

The Antivan elf carefully examined the die in his hand, playing with it by passing it back and forth between his palms and then rolling it across the backs of his fingers.

"First, where exactly is he?"

"I don't even think the Maker knows where", Finn piped up.

"Oh?"

"He was alive last we saw of him, I mean."

Ariane relaxed a bit and fixed herself into a cross legged position, no longer worried about having to spring into action, "I guess your second question would be what was he doing out there, and what Vann did share was that he sought out Morrigan. Our travels brought us to the Dragonbone Wastes and after some - awful surprises we found her waiting for us- him."

"Ahh, yes. The strange love of his equally strange life."

"Were they married - he had a ring? Though he didn't wish to speak of it."

"No, no. Morrigan is an odd creature and not one who would entrap herself to another person so. At least not without some kind of struggle. Rather she was - is his great weakness. In our quest they were very passionate, I'd be lying if I did not say I was not a tad jealous of their raucous lovemaking."

Finn squirmed a bit, to which Zevran laughed that mischievous laugh of his.

"He actually shared with me that he wished to turn that Chasind Witch into the glittering Teyrna of Highever - if we not only stopped but also survived The Blight that is", he sighed and his grin went flat, "But that, children, is in the past. So is there anything else you wish to impart on me that may make my seemingly fruitless search a bit- ah- fruitier?"

Ariane considered for a moment, "we couldn't hear much of what they said but they did share a kiss at the end of their talk. Then they both walked through this ancient Elven mirror."

"They- walked into- a mirror? I guess, as a Warden, he has done - stranger things."

Finn's interest perked up, "Its called an Eluvian and it seemed act as a portal because they stepped right through and just 'Poof'. Leaving us three alone without the book Ariane was after and, now that I think of it, a bit of my cheese supply."

"Poof?"

"Poof, yes. As in gone."

"You are a strange little man", Zev said before flicking the die and sending it flying into Finn's forehead.

"OW! Elves - with the pain. Why?"

Ariane could not help but giggle a bit, finally feeling a little less upset at the witnesses of her previous bout with nudity.

"So this mirror does work both ways? Can it be used again, is what I am asking."

"Ooh - no. She - this Morrigan must of used blood magic to keep the thing open for as long as she did. She is a powerful Maleficar to accomplish what she did, especially if she did indeed use Blood Magic. She must not be entirely human to call upon such - reserves of her life force."

"Well her Mother could shapeshift into a High Dragon and thus it took quite the effort to slay her when the time came, but if that is the loins from which Morrigan came forth then I've no doubt she is not entirely human."

Zevran picked himself up and bowed once again, and this time the Mabari returned one in kind.

"So, I will see about venturing into the Dragonbone Wastes, purely out of sating my own curiosity, and afterwards I shall have to report back to my silken flow- Employer and report my findings. With that I shall bid you both far-thee-well, and might I suggest you two finally kiss and get this whole game over with. Even I can only take so much damn displays of flirtatious tension."

Ariane's face and ears once again burned red.


	20. Chapter 20

Peering into the darkness, Omen absently clutched the child tightly to her chest, its little body struggled for a moment before she realized what she had done and held him forth. With worry she removed some of the coverings of his head and face to allow him to breathe. His balled up fists rubbed against his face as he easily returned to his usual calm state.

With relief she once again cradled him in her arms and then took another tentative step forth into the stone structure. The dragon's breathing was the only sound, each exhale was another burst of hot wind, which was oddly comforting as since she had arrived in this world there was no wind or breeze as there had been in the Mortal Realm.

"Hel-lo, ser?," her voice wavered as she lacked any kind of night-sight. Her husband would just instinctively strike up a fire at dusk in their time roaming along the Imperial Highway and in the Brecillian Forest. So without any fire at camp and the silver light of the sky shone directly down on the world about them, only a few feet inside of the place bore any illumination.

Another step, and she almost tripped on a shard of stone. Rubble from the fight, she presumed, as she regained her footing.

"Ser Dragon?", Omen asked again.

The babe in arms suddenly sucked in air sharply, alarmed she looked down and saw nothing. Her eyes betrayed her and panic had begun to set in. This was a mistake. When she turned to face the illuminated doorway another sharp breath was taken, this time it was the Dragon who did so and the pressure in the room shifted and the door shut.

Darkness was all about her.

"Yesss?", the creature answered.

Without fail he kissed her fiercely after hungrily lapping at her sex,  
she did not mind tasting of her own pleasures but the grin the Warden shared with her after the kiss told that it was done more out of some perverse mischief than passion.

Cousland's grin turned serious, this usually meant more talking, and he had not even taken his own pleasures of her yet.

"Morrigan?"

She sighed, "Must we?"

"Just - would it be too much to ask of you another child?"

The witch opened her mouth to speak but uttered nothing. She could not decide whether to be upset or surprised at his question, instead she got up on her elbows, "What?"

"I'd like to have another - another child."

Vann was serious. She could see it in his eyes, the almost innocent desperation.

"Another child.", Morrigan settled on indifference rather than hostility, "You mean another sword for the House Cousland? Another male heir to continue the sowing of the Oats of Highever after the culling at Howe's hand?"

Visibly hurt he began to stutter, "N-no, not like that at all. Its just I- forget it."

"No, you have a point to make, so make it, oh second son of a fallen nobleman."

Lowering his head he rested his forehead on the wisps of hair above his lover's sex, the pressure caused Morrigan to stifle a light moan.

"Why?, she asked. "What would make you want to bring another being into this - existence that seems to cater to the tragic and tyrannical?"

Cousland sighed and exhaled slowly on her still wet and sensitive lips, again her toes curled.

"Stop - stop toying with me and answer."

He looked up and gazed directly into her golden eyes, "I want a daughter - to raise as you should've been. Neither some spoiled princess nor power seeker, rather I want that innocence - that girl who snatched a mirror and marvelled at another piece of the undiscovered world that lay beyond the Wilds."

Vann paused but received no reply from his stunned partner.

"No destiny. No grand design for her future. Just as normal a life as we can possibly provide, be she be born mage or otherwise."

"There is nothing normal about us. Nothing at all, this - this is unacceptable. What possessed you to even- I...", she pulled her arms back to her sides and laid back down. Vann crawled over her and held himself above her, she twisted her face away from him.

"If you're thinking she could possibly attempt to turn on you and send her future lover and his friends to come slay you sometime down the road..."

Morrigan couldn't help but laugh, briefly.

"I will always love our Son, don't think I'm trying to replace him with 'something normal' or believe he is some kind of abomination. I fell in love with him the moment he was in my arms, when he was no longer words whispered in secret."

"It is not any of that. 'Tis - the way you speak of me. I do not understand how you - how you still cling to me, how you see me as something capable or worthy of this - Love. I have done things that anyone else would find utterly repulsive, monstrous things."

"What does that matter? Its in the past. It is behind you."

"You know not of my plans. Only what I have chosen to reveal to you.  
How do I know you will not come to hate me? To hate the Mother of your children - child? Would you attempt to keep me from own? To spare them the - the taint of their Mother's corruptive nature?"

"That is Flemeth talking. Not you. Flemeth worked in deception and doubt like a spider weaves a web. Don't let her cloud her of what you want or desire. Don't let her poisonous thoughts drive you even after you've gone through so much trouble to get away from her."

Morrigan turned to her partner, her face wet with tears.

"But you do not know - you have no clue as to what I went through..."

Worry spread across his face, "What? What happened?"

"'Tis awful what I had endured. I would wake to swollen ankles, and at times I'd stop almost a dozen times in not even a quarter day's travel to - make water", she blushed.

The Warden chuckled then began planting kisses on her face and neck.

"I am telling you now, I am terribly disagreeable when with child. I crave - things, ugh, that I regret even while gorging upon it."

"I do not care, as long as I can still have 'access' to you I shall have no trouble in enduring alongside."

"Access? Oh no, absolutely not. I - my body was in no condition for your overly indulgent appetite."

"Really? Well we shall see but it wouldn't hurt if I got my fill while I still can."

"Of that," she snaked her legs about her lover and pressed her wetness against his groin, "we can agree."

"Do not come any further, ser. I - I am armed."

The demoness held Morrigan's silverite dagger before her, making light slashes at the dark with ever snuffle of the creature's breath or scrape of scales across the stone surfaces.

"No bother, woman. You do me much honor bringing the vessel of Urthmiel before me."

"What?" its voice came from all around her.

The darkness, ever so confining, was the absolute worst part of being away from the Fade. The stark unchanging blackness and void of the dark was as close to death as she could ever fathom. Awaking in the tunnels upon the passing her Simon, only the pinprick of light at the very end of the passage she had found herself amidst. Omen did all but cry for joy when she spilled out of the tunnel's mouth into the bright red world about her.

"The child, the one you carry wrapped in your arm. You hug against you one of the great ones from a time long ago."

Unable to to see or even the hear the babe in her charge, over the overwhelming presence of the Dragon, a cold pit formed in her stomach.

"Please, ser, let us be. The door - I cannot find it."

"But I seek audience with Urthmiel. The questions I have are far numerous but I am not worthy of but a fraction of the old one's time."

"It will be much much longer before you gain his attention, ser. I - I understand he does not speak as of yet. In fact I came here not of the child's accord but to ask of you how - how you speak, how you are able to understand?"

The beast grew quiet for a time, not even its powerful lungs filled the structure with sound. She raised the small child closer to her head, cuddling its form to her ear, careful not to scrape him with her jagged horn. His shallow breaths were all that was keeping her from being consumed by utter madness. 


	21. Chapter 21

In all her years with all the planning, studies, and crafting Morrigan had undertaken none of it could quite possibly prepare her for any of this. She had no examples of how a true couple or family worked. Sure she had spied upon people in Lothering as in the forms of various animals and creatures, and occasional seduced her way into some of the family shared stilt-homes that sat high over the wetlands of the Chasind folk. But never had she had partaken in any semblance of a permanent nor caring relationship outside of her time with Flemeth.

Even with all of Flemeth's experience and tutelage, the older witch was sparse on the details of her time with both Bann Conobar and the bard Osen. Yes her marriage to Conobar was one of convenience, her lover Osen was spared from poverty while Conobar gained a beautiful wife to indulge his carnal appetites. Mother had never elaborated on the feelings she shared for Osen instead she would breakdown every detail of Conobar's demands upon her younger self.

Here the lesson was the weakness of her heart broke the pact with Conobar, when she ran off with Osen. Then again sentiment betrayed her when returning to Highever upon learning of Conobar's impending death.

Thus Morrigan was at a loss on hot to reconcile her training and life lesson with all the she gained with having the Warden back in her life. Next to her the man slumbered, spent from the conception of their unborn daughter. Both still weak from the borrowing of both their life forces to not only overcome the Taint but to ensure the child's gender, she smiled to herself recounting the affections they murmured to one another before another trifling argument over the naming of their coming spawn.

No amount of blackmail or manipulation could sway her beloved. In the end it took bringing up their Son's own lack of a name to break his circle of logic. By the same token she acquiesced to the use of pet names, such as 'Pup' for their Son - such as Vann's own Father had called him over his youth. While 'Cub' was decided upon for their Daughter.

Morrigan inwardly groaned as Cub came from a quickly quashed suggestion of 'Morribear' for herself, a bit of jest Cousland had apparently been saving since witnessing the first time she transmogrified into her Bear form for one protracted battle. Never had she ever missed her connection to The Fade when the urge to give the Warden a quick zap of ball-lightning crossed her mind the moment those particular syllables were uttered by his fool mouth.

Soon her fond thoughts were interrupted by the now very apparent odious aroma of their unbathed, sex coated bodies. What with water being rather precious in this dead land she dared not even, as Zevran would put it, a simple 'whore's bath' with their drinking water.  
Instead she stripped off the remnant of her nursing clothes and breast wrap and exited the tent in the buff. The night air was still still warm from the overly long day and the fine grit that coated the land felt good between her toes, all of this reminded her of a small beach along the Orlesian Coastline where she spent the initial months of her pregnancy.

Morrigan stood there and stretched in the silvery starshine that lit the night. Even without the wind to help speed the drying process, she found herself enjoying the open air bath. In the damp of the Korcari Wilds it was often more hygienic to strip off and let the wind and air take the reek and sweat from the body than to taint a fresh water source or wash in a questionable source.

After all they had gone through this was her first time alone without any kind of nagging urgency, hungry child, or maddening lover present.  
The Wilder Woman took a moment to shut her eyes, recalling the cry of the Gulls and lapping of the waves, losing herself to memories.

Omen's legs felt like granite as her muscles had tightened and locked in place, a fine coat of sweat covered her skin. She was trapped.  
Trapped in a darkened building, unable to move, unable to protect the innocent child she had carried in with her. Trapped and without the ability to see a Drake that had claimed to be a prisoner.

"Hel-"

"Not another word", the creature suddenly hissed, "and do not move."

The demon woman could not help but to obey, the Drake sucked in a powerful lung full of the stale air then belched a blue ball of flame that lit up the room. The fireball had set alight a broken wooden table and a pile of bones covered in chainmail and rags.

Firelight played across the dragon's scales, it was far larger than the same creatures they had encountered and avoided while she and her Templar escaped from the Circle Tower at Lake Calenhad. The spines on its back gouged at the stone of the ceiling, and its long neck craned its head down as it eyed both the woman and child.

"You are free to leave now..."

"Thank y-"

"But not the Child. Urthmiel cannot leave."

Omen was taken aback by the Drake's response, the light and warmth of the fire shook her free from the mire of panic, "What? Why? The door is right there unless - this is a threat?"

She hugged the still sleeping child closer to herself.

"As I told his Protector, I am a prisoner. The Stone refuses me freedom to roam the Voidlands. The spirit within the Child is that of Urthmiel the Dragon of Beauty - and as a Dragon He shall be seen and should He recross the threshold untold pain will wrack his body. I know not the strength of the vessel Urthmiel is contained therein but it is possible it could prove quite fatal."

Her eyes darted from the babe in her arms to the door and back again.  
If there was any truth to the dragon's statement then there was risk in leaving with the child but there was no leaving without Morrigan's Son as the Drake could simply snap up his little body as any other morsel. Omen resigned herself to remaining in the Drake's impromptu den, at least the fire would stave off the shadows and the dark.

"Ser", she spoke up again. This time the Drake regarded her with just a single open eye as it had returned back to its sleeping position.

"Yes, woman?"

"How- how is it you speak? I don't remember how any of your kind having a mastery of language."

"I was not always capable of speech, not until a Mage, bearing the same markings as Urthmiel's protector and the Warriors that follow The Stone, called Avernus bonded unto me a spirit of The Fade."

"What kind of Spirit?"

The Drake's eye flared with a red light.

"Rage." 


	22. Chapter 22

The intensity and blood-red glow of the Drake's stare sent a rapturous shiver through her body. Omen could almost taste the power contained within the creature. The forced bond caused by the Blood Mage in the mortal realm meant that the demon itself had expended none of its own power in possessing the animal. Obviously being excised from the Fade when the beast expired and then travelling to this land devoid of life meant such a show of power in its blazing eyes meant the demon within felt threatened and thus its precious reserve of emotional fuel was worth even this minor drain.

The glow in its eyes dimmed as it slowly realized the last bits of fear that had once consumed the strange woman was gone, replaced by a new more malevolent intent. Even in her self-imposed weakened state her true nature was still evident.

"Stay back. Stay where you remain," it mewled as it watched Omen place the bundle in her arms gently into the back face of an ancient shield that lay in the opposite corner.

"Now, now", she spoke slowly as if to a child. "Where is the ferocity shown earlier by your display? Aye, where be your passion in the rage?  
You did feed from the child's Father in the battle."

It said nothing, simply eyeing the dark skinned woman as she removed her robe and uncoiled her tail from about her waist. She sauntered dangerously close to the wingless dragon, running a stray finger across its snout. The contact made it elicit a quiet hiss.

"Oh, speechless are we? Mayhaps you desire more than just your freedom?" the very tip of her oddly elongated skull came to life with a faint touch of a pink flame.

Vann stretched out hoping to lightly take hold of Morrigan's exquisite jaw and plant a kiss on his sleeping beauty, instead he grasped at nothing. With eyes kept shut by the stickiness that comes from the dehydration of their exertions, he absently felt around only to find their wet spot on the bedroll.

He yawned and stretched, his limbs easily touched the boundaries of the tent they shared. "Definitely have to find something a lil' more permanent", he murmured to himself while rubbing the film from his eyes.

Usually upon waking the Taint-spawned hunger would drive him to eat but ever since arriving in what The Drake called 'The Voidlands',  
Cousland would only chew on abit of the dried herbs Omen had gathered along with a bit of hard bread from his own stores merely out of habit. Their water stores, while meager, were similarly largely untouched since entering the face of the Eluvian.

Sitting up now, the once Hero of Ferelden surveyed the inside of the tent, and like a tapestry of his own life the blood, patches, and soiled markings painted a brief yet storied history. He had spent so much of this - this, he had no idea what to call it. Excursion? Trip?  
New life?

Yes, a new life. He had spent so much of the beginning of this new life rehashing his past decisions and explaining himself that when he broached the idea of having another child with Morrigan it felt like the first time he ever looked toward the future. The first time his future was actually his to shape, his to look forward to.

Talking Drakes, dead mentors, a horde of the dead intent on snuffing out their lives, all of it paled in comparison to the now dawning realization that he had no clue how to raise a child. Sure it was easy enough to engage his nephew Oren in play or take on an outing slash adventure about the grounds of Castle Cousland, but once he got tuckered out or overly excited it was only a matter of passing the tyke onto Fergus or Oriana and he could slip back into the practice ring. Considering Morrigan he didn't think he could so easily escape his duties - not that he would want to.

Pup, as he was now allowed to address the son of his loins, while most likely to be magically inclined and wrapped up in this Old God business, would still be a male child and growing up alongside Fergus and Ser Gilmore it'd be easy enough to anticipate dealing with a younger version of himself. But Cub, the daughter he actually dreamt of when no longer welcome in his lover's tent whilst wandering the Deep Roads, was another matter entirely. It'd barely been but an hour or two since once again following Morrigan's instruction on the imagery he had to focus upon while simultaneously maintaining the careful balance of their various positions, but he already agonized on how he'd care for his daughter.

He remembered a conversation with Loghain shortly before their interview by the Orlesian Wardens a month or so after the end of The Blight where his then future Father-in-Law had left him with the thought of a small girl with carefully coiffed pigtails who had skinned her knees while running after him as he once again departed for Denerim. Vann had seen the man be caught in the Maw of the Archdemon itself and not bat-a-lash yet this memory had drawn forth a look for pain that still haunted the Warden. Morrigan herself had no clue as to her own Father, the idea that some horrified man lay paralyzed on Flemeth's bed as the Witch took her pleasure and his seed quickly ended any kind of fond fantasy she may have had.

Cousland shook the thoughts from his head. What had he asked for? What did he just ask Morrigan to do? Here she is cut off from all but Blood Magic, so if the birth of their son was made any easier with her access to Lyrium and The Fade - how would she fair with a natural birth in such an unnatural place?

Suddenly a horrendous roar pierced through his tangle of thoughts 


	23. Chapter 23

As if waking from a daydream the Warden found himself yet again stretched out in his lover's tent. Again film made opening his eyes particularly difficult but this time when he reached next to himself and felt her warm body draw close to him and breathed a husky greeting into his ear.

"Mmm, good morn my love", she purred as soft lips gently played across his ear lobe.

A great hunger awoke within his very core and with a quick turn of head he locked his mouth to hers. For several moments she gave into his ravenous embrace before breaking it for a lungful of their musk-ladened air.

"Ah, that was - was very passionate my love. Mmm, what brought this on, I wonder? Perhaps a dream - nay, fantasy you have not asked me to yet to explore?"

Her tone and proximity almost brought a blush to his cheeks despite the growing yearn for more of Morrigan.

"I don't know what has come over me. I should be exhausted but it seemed to have faded from my body. Speaking of fantasy I swear for a moment I had wakened from a dream."

"'Tis impossible my knight, as you know none of us have had any dreams since making our home in this land."

"But it was strange - there was a great unsettling explosion. Ohhh," he moaned and mashed his full frame against his Wilder Woman. Grinding and kissing, they entangled their limbs once again. Yet for a brief moment her body shuddered in a strange manner, her moans were quieter - more reserved, and her usual sylvanwood scent became that of Orlesian oils.

Vann fought to pull away.

"Husband, it is not polite to neglect your... duties."

The tent was gone and he lay next to Anora now. Her golden locks loose from their usual bun, moist tresses framed her softened features, and ice blue eyes that begged him to return.

"No, no - Anora?"

"I cannot believe you fell asleep again while we're trying to - to- ugh."

"I'm sorry, Dear."

The Queen recoiled and released the once Grey Warden.

"You said you were going to be honest with me. Which were you dreaming of while we try to concieve an heir?"

"Don't say it like that. I care about you Anora, this isn't about giving Ferelden what it needs - this about us and starting a Family. I meant it when I told you I wanted you, it stopped being about politics once we shared our Vow and made our prayers."

"Which one? The shrew of an Elven woman? Is that what you really want?"

Vann sat up on his knees atop the ornate bed of the Royal Chambers, "That is not fair, Anora. That was my fault, mine alone. Velana-"

"And you speak her name so readily. If - and I do mean if we sire a child, you aim to name her so? Would that please you since it utters from lips with such ease?"

It was in these moments that Vann remembers how he is not a King in totality but rather King Consort, a comforting prop for the people and bed warming partner for the Queen. He shuffled over to the side of the bed and planted his feet on the cold stone to try to wake some sense into himself. It was but a dream, the tent, the mirror, a Family - it was just his mind playing tricks.

Thin arms wrapped about him and his bedmate rested the side of her head against his back.

"Commander? Why did you get up? Am I not practiced enough for your Kingly appetites? Or maybe you think my innards too constricting for your shem parts, hmm?"

The tip of her pointed ear lightly rubbed against the back of his neck.

"Maker forgive me," he begged quietly to the flickering of the warm firelight of his quarters in Vigil's Keep.

"I've been called many things, but 'Maker' has never been one of them. Though for this night I'll allow you to worship me if you so wish", the Dalish Mage so rarely teased.

This time he dared not give in to temptation, as real as everything felt - the cold radiating from the walls, the lingering taste of Antivan Brandy on his lips, and the small weathered fingers that played across his scars and muscle - it just could not be true.

"Stop it, whoever you are, just - stop. I will not play your game, I am no one's pawn. Not any longer."

The body behind him tensed, and the ripples of change could be felt across his skin.

"But I miss you so, my Son."

"NEVER!" he cried out as he leapt from the bed and free of clutches of his Mother's simulacrum.

"Come to me. Rest. Let me tend to you."

A wave of revulsion washed over him, "Away with you. Do not disturb my Mother's Memory, you sully it at your peril."

"Have it your way, Warden."

Omen stood before the Warden as a chaotic scene replaced the vision of the Night within The Keep. Togther they stood where the tent once was erected, now it was torn down and trampled underfoot by the denizens of this dead world. The feral men and women sprinted and leapt past the duo, leaving them undisturbed, as they attacked the now freed Drake. It trampled the ruins of its once stone cell as it massive jaws rent through the bodies of the unending waves of the dead.

The panic from earlier returned and Vann's head whipped about in frantic search for his child and love.

"Where are they, Omen?", Vann violently gripped the Desire Demon's shoulders.

"They could be right here if you so desired?" she offered as the purple flames of her head flared and danced wildly, her purple eyes flickered from gold back to purple.

"No tricks, I want my Family not your falsities."

The Dark Spirit considered for a moment, her tail playfully swished at the air behind her.

"Yessss, your Family."

With a gesture Omen called forth a pair of figures that reluctantly pulled free of the vicious throngs awaiting their turn to pile upon the waning beast.

"Don't let him see us."

"Oh come to your beloved. He misses you both so dearly, that not even I can sate his longing", the violet **** grinned.

"Not like this, tell her Bryce."

***  
To be continued... 


	24. Chapter 24

Morrigan had had enough of this.

She was much younger when Mother had originally shared it and here she was again, much older - much more experienced with the world around her, yet she was made to sit before their little hut lost amidst the wilderness and be regaled with every sordid detail.

"Enough, last it was told with much less - intimacy. Why must you bog the tale with such strange descriptors and thoughts of my Father?", she asked as she scrunched her soft pale features.

"Oh hush up, Cub. Let Nan share the tale as she wishes. T'is a rare thing to gain the insights of another's thoughts unfiltered by propriety."

The young girl cast a withering glare at her elder sibling, "I - am - Morrigan. You - you, toadstool."

"T'is Mother's name, and you know it - Cub. Pick another name for thyself, least of which one Father chooses to repeat so strained in the throes of night."

Young Morrigan shuddered, "You know how much I hate you right now, yes?"

The pair stared each other down across the dying cooking fire, just as stubborn as their Father and as spiteful as their Mother.

"Fine, we'll call it a night, children. You are both too old for such bickering but not too old to be commanded to sleep", their hooded guardian spoke as she gestured to the wooden hovel that amongst the reddened dirt of the plains that served as their homeland all these years. The two adolescents picked themselves up from the fire's side and ambled away as slow as possible.

"Toadstool."

"Pfft, you do not even know what that is, Cub."

"My name is Morrigan."

"To your rolls already, you two", their caretaker called at them.

"Sorry, Omen", they replied in grumbled unison.

"Eunuch."

"Spinster."

"SLEEP!"

The wooden door clattered shut silencing any last minute barbs the dark haired duo slung at one another, leaving Omen alone and quite exasperated. Her own children, despite being a shared fantasy between herself and her long lost Templar, were nowhere near as unruly. But their tensions were just misplaced anger and confusion at the thoughts of leaving the only home they've ever known.

The Witch and The Warden had departed days ago preparing the means for their return to land of the living, and the children were still coming to grips with the fact Omen would not be joining them. She was from the Fade and never truly alive nor dead but here she found herself in this world where the Dead only lingered long enough to be forget their old life and return anew, reborn into another babe, another destiny. She would never meet this fate, and this did not sit well with her charges.

The reformed Desire Demon sighed and stirred the now glowing embers with an old arrow shaft. Young Morrigan had remembered her Mother's recounting of their past. The Drake had held its ground against the dead, while she had desperately attempted to bond with Vann whether or not it was even possible, and Morrigan did her best to guard little Osen and his recently conceived sister.

Cub, or Morrigan, as she had recently claimed as her name, knew too of the intervention by the Dead Wardens. Despite the victory, the alliance was short lived as once Loghain had passed into this dead world, so would the knowledge of Pup's origin. Thus they demands over the life of the male child, their reasoning that if the child would ever return to Thedas that it might draw the Darkspawn back once again to the surface and should the Taint ever infect Pup - Osen, another Blight could commence.

The Wardens still loyal, even in death, to the children's former Warden-Commander father had divided the Dead Warden's forces and that bought the little family the years they needed for the children to become old enough and skilled enough to survive the return to Thedas and the state, their Grandmother, Flemeth's machinations had left it.

Omen cast her gaze to the moonless twinkling of the night sky. Their parents would return soon to take them all back to the tunnel that had brought them to this desolate place. The fallen demoness took solace in the fact her loss of her adopted family would be only brief as, unbeknownst to the children, the last vestiges of her meager life force would empower their Mother's spell that would reopen the portal. Soon they'd be home and then she would find her peace.

TO BE CONTINUED IN... "Hall Of Mirrors"


End file.
